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after-witch · 8 months ago

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Aisle 8A [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Title: Aisle 8A [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Synopsis: You're on your period, and your captor sits you down for a very special talk.

Word count: 1500ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, reader has their period, misogyny, lots of period talk, L being a weirdo

It’s rare that you let your kidnapper see you squirm. Mostly because he’s admitting to enjoying the sight of you fidgeting on the couch or bed; apparently, all of your little body tics in such stressful moments are just absolutely fascinating.

So, whenever possible, you make your body sit (almost) perfectly still. You keep your face neutral. You bite back responses, swallow insults, and wait until you’re alone in the bathroom to cry. (Though you have speculated he may have a camera in there, despite the lack of proof, and his cagey denial.)

It works, most of the time.

Except for now--for several reasons.

One being, you’re on your period.

It’s not something you looked forward to pre-kidnapping, and it’s something that you dread intensely, post-kidnapping. Sitting in front of your captor while you bleed into one of the standard-issue pads you found in the bathroom--the thin, generic kind that are often stocked at public bathrooms--is certainly not the highlight of your day.

Two, and two is the primary reason for the way your body is currently shifting on the chair: L, your kidnapper, the person you hate most in the world, has presented you with a tray of assorted period products. Pads, of several sizes and materials. Tampons, the same. Period underwear. And a silicone menstrual cup, fresh out of a plastic wrapper.

Behind this tray, he sits on his own chair, knees pulled up, a small smile on his face.

He gnaws on the end of his thumb and looks at you with something akin to gleeful hope, and you’d like nothing more than to punch him in the face.

“Well?” He asks, voice lilting. “Aren’t you going to ask why I put these here?”

You’d like to ask him where he gets the nerve. But that would only feed his ego, you think. So you breathe in and out through your nose, slowly, carefully. You flex your fingertips and press your hands together on your lap.

“Why,” you say, slowly, carefully neutral, “do you have a tray full of period products in front of me?”

L beams. “Glad you asked!” He gestures across the tray, like you haven’t been staring at it for what feels like five full minutes. “I’ve been monitoring your last seven menstrual cycles--your menstrual bleeding cycles, in particular--and I have come to the conclusion…”

He leans forward, eyes wide, eager. “… that you are not adequately handling your period every month.”

You have put up with a lot of things during your months of captivity. The loss of freedom, of course. The lack of autonomy. L’s incessant, creepy staring. His tendency towards over-analyzing you. His love for mental games that leave you wanting to tear your hair out.

But this?

This is too much. Too far.

Especially right now, with the awkward feeling of blood pressing between yourself and the pad, and a dull ache of cramps sitting low in your belly.

The snort that comes out of your nose would be fire, if it reflected how angry you’re getting.

“And how, exactly, am I not--handling my period adequately every month?” Even though you know he’ll get some special entertainment from your mockery, you can’t bite it back.

L grins again. “I’m happy to tell you my conclusions.” He reaches over to a side table, and retrieves a stack of papers. Your eyes go wide. No way. No fucking way. He didn’t--

He did.

He taps the stack of papers on the tray in front of him.

“I’ve calculated that during your active menstrual bleeding, you are 57% more irritable than on days without bleeding. Although there are many ways to reduce your stress hormones during these days, you refuse to do anything except mope around.”

Your mouth opens, lips sticking to your teeth, but he puts up a hand before you can tell him that being fucking kidnapped is the reason you’re “moping around.”

“And yes, I have taken into account your… unhappiness with your current situation. While that should account for certain levels of your stress hormones, it doesn’t account for all of them, nor does it negate the distinct rise in your stress levels on these specific days.”

Your eye twitches. It actually twitches.

“What else,” you bite out, teeth grinding, “have you calculated in that report of yours?”

He tilts his head, still smiling. He might look cute, if you didn’t want to knock his teeth out.

“Would you really like to know more? I don’t want to bore you. Ah, but if you insist…” He flips through the pages, until he lands on something he’d apparently love to share. “I’ve also discovered that your current pad use is simply inadequate for the flow and consistency of your menstrual bleeding.”

He can’t be serious. Nope. He can’t be. You must be dreaming.

“Stop,” you mutter, cheeks blazing hot, chest almost equally so. “Just--”

“I think this is important,” he says, blinking innocently at you. “I’ve noticed that you’ve stained your clothing--undergarments included--several times, and when Watari had the sheets laundered, we spotted some--”

Nope. You’re not doing this.

You stand up, body shaking, skin hot and flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m not having this conversation,” you say, voice stilted, teeth grinding on the inside of your cheek to keep you from screaming. “This is weird. You are weird.” Your hand points at him, vaguely, accusingly, but you drop it without fanfare.

His smile tilts into the smallest of pout.

“It’s not weird to be concerned with your inadequate usage of menstrual products. That’s why I’ve arranged some samples for you,” he says simply enough. “So you can see which menstrual product is best suited to your size and flow. Personally,” he adds, looking down at the tray with mild fascination, “I’m interested to see if the overnight pads are really more absorbent than the daytime heavy flow. Shall we conduct an experiment to compare?”

“No!” The words come out practically shrieked, and you grab one of the cushions from the sofa and hug it close. Calm yourself, you think. Calm down. Don’t let him see you get mad. It’s what he wants. It’s probably the entire reason for all this---well, this.

“I don’t need you to tell me what products to use. Or how to manage my stress. Or--whatever else it is you have in there.”

L pulls out another sheet of paper. “Well, I have also considered the effectiveness of your using microwaved towels versus a proper heating pad--which you could ask me for, but haven’t--and--”

It’s your turn to raise your hand and, to your surprise, he stops talking.

“I’ve had my period every month since I was 11.” The inside of your cheek hurts--there will be a blister, and blood, soon enough. “You really, really think I don’t know how to handle my own period?”

Maybe this is your attempt at giving him an out--a chance to apologize for being so unbelievably awful.To admit he’s wrong, in some small measure. Your hands tighten around the pillow, in hope--in anticipation?

His eyebrow raises; there’s a quirk of a smile on his lips.

“That’s the strangest thing about all this. I calculated that you’ve had…” And the bastard actually recites the estimated number of periods you’ve had since you started puberty. “… in your life.” He taps the paper in front of him with one short, gnawed-on fingernail. “You really should have had a more logical plan for this by now.”

The cushion bonks off the side of his head with unsatisfying softness, and you stalk away, intent on going into the only room in the house where you get any semblance of privacy--the bathroom.

“I forgive you,” he calls out, even as you walk away. “I know you’re only overreacting with this level of aggression due to the elevated level of hormones in your bloodstream!”

You can hear the smile in his voice as you slam the bathroom door. The mirror rattles. Your breath comes out in awful huffs, and angry tears prick at your eyes. Stupid asshole. Smarmy bastard. It’s like there’s no part of your life he won’t dissect, won’t turn impossibly irritating, and he’s just--

Your eyes land on the box of pads you’d found on the day of your first period here. It was a larger, plain brown box with a bar-code in it--he probably got it from some bulk place, hence the low quality.

Only now…

The box is empty. There are no more pads, thin, shitty as they were. And you know you’re about to be finished with the current pad resting in your underwear from the feel of it.

There’s a soft, playful knock on the door. He knew--he must have known the whole time it was empty. Probably knew you’d wind up storming off in here, too.

“Did you decide which of these you liked best?” Even with his voice muffled by the door, the sticky self-assurance rings loud and clear. “I’m guessing you’ll need them sooner rather than later…”

Before you start looking for any object you might throw in his direction if he opens the door, he calls out again--

"If you've chosen the menstrual cup and you're worried about the insertion process, I watched the tutorial video and it's really very--"

You don't hear what he says in the end over your own muffled shriek into the nearest towel.

#yandere #yandere l lawliet #yandere death note #afterwitch writes #yes this is named after the king of the hill episode

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tiredmamaissy · 2 years ago

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Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Chapter Two

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, profanity, age gap, a lot of sexual tension, size difference/kink, praise kink, heat cycle, scenting, fingering, thigh grinding, cumshot, blood/wounds, recollection of non-con trauma (not heavily described - purely for the plot), let me know if i forgot anything?

Word Count: 8k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Satisfaction - Benny Benassi fully took me through this fic. This one's long. It's got fluff, angst, and smut in it. So buckle up. I hope you guys enjoy 🤍

Synopsis: Your family seeks uturu with the Metkayina in the village of Awa’atlu. You have a difficult time adjusting, and are assigned your own special teacher, Ralak.

<- Previous Next ->

Lessons were productive and frequent. You saw him almost daily, except on the days that Tonowari recruited him for his duties as warrior and hunter. Those were the days you dreaded most. The days when he’d traipse in exhausted and banged up. The days that made you start carrying your medicine pouch on your hip like it was a part of your body.

Days like today.

Ralak walks in moments before the eclipse, jaw clenched with a stagger in his step. You can sense the fracture in his spirit, another unpleasant hunting trip further inland. The gash in his shoulder is evidence of it. You rush over to him, hand firmly gripping your medicine pouch.

“Ra-lak!” your words come out broken, voice bouncing with each thud of your feet.

“It is fine.” he begins, head dropping to hide his grimace.

“It is not. Tonowari asks too much of you.” you huff, running over to him so fast you nearly bump into him. “Oh, Eywa. Look at you.” you tippy toe, eyes franticly scanning his bruised torso, hands doing their mighty best to move his body to have a better look.

“I said, it is –”

“Oh, Ralak.” you cut him off, grazing a finger over the inflamed skin, making his teeth grind even harder.

“I’m fine. It is just a –”

“Just. Shh. Let me look... let me help you.” you shush him, your other hand brushing over the deep scrapes on his chest.

It’s laughable that he has to hunch his back just for you to have a proper ‘look’. But you didn’t find it funny. Your brows gather tightly at the sight, bottom lip quivering from the mix of emotions surging through you – anger, sadness, concern. Your innocent touches makes blood rush to his face, staining his cheeks a light tinge of pink. His heartbeat quickens - breath deepening.

His eyes remain locked onto you, quietly admiring your beauty. The way your nose scrunches, the little canines chewing on your bottom lip – the heave of your chest. He didn’t mean to let his eyes wander so low, but now that they were there, he couldn’t resist the urge to stare a little longer. To count the beads on your top.

To count the droplets of water trickling between your breasts.

You scoop up a glob of yalnabark, an omaticayan herb you saved for special times like this, and smear it on his chest. The sudden sting brings him back, snapping his gaze up to your screwed face of concern. It warms his heart, just like it did every time he’d come back from a hunting trip a little too banged up. He loved the way you took care of him. The way your small, gentle hands caressed his battered body with whatever smelly concoction you had stowed away in your pouch.

It's all he’s ever craved. Someone to take care of him. To cherish him. To love him. A simple life, in his marui pod he built with his two hands. Big enough for him and his mate, in front of the ocean so that he could fish in the mornings and then bond with his mate in the evenings. Where he could provide for his mate. For his family. To protect.

A mundane life to many, but a perfect life to him.

But rather, he has been recruited by the olo’eyktan himself, to be his right-hand man, to help lead and teach the upcoming hunters and warriors. He yearns for his old life as a fisherman. Simple. Humble. But shortly after a run in with another clan, Tonowari made the order, and Ralak obeyed. It was at that point in his life that he relinquished his dream of a mundane life.

There’s a part of him, a part that he’s denied attention since he came to adulthood, that yearns for someone like you. Yearns for the possibility that you can provide this simple life for him. A mate. A home. Children. His heart gallops in his chest, slamming against his ribs, but you wouldn’t even know. Not by the way he’s looking at you. But there was one thing he knew for sure, and that was –

His feelings for you are indubitable.

“It is just a scratch.” he says softly, finally finishing his sentence. His hand instinctively rests on your hip as yours search his body for more wounds to smear the herbal concoction on.

“A scratch?” you huff a sigh, beady eyes boring into his before landing on the open gash in his shoulder. Blood trickles down his arm, staining the dark ink pricked under his skin. “You are bleeding. A lot.” you pout, glossy, amber saucers for eyes staring up at him, “…that must really hurt, karyu.”

He crumbles under your touch, gaze softening and body relaxing into you even more. “Do what you need, paysyul [water lily].”

That’s a new one. You smile to yourself and begin cleaning the open wound.

----

Funnily, the only thing you had left to master before your iknimaya was the sign language of the sea people. The ‘finger talk’. Perhaps it was because you had an extra finger, but you found it difficult to create and string together all the signs. Ralak determined that you would need an entire week to learn it, which you couldn’t help but scoff at.

But, he just didn’t want to let go of you so soon.

It was the only thing you practiced outside of the water. It was a refreshing change, to feel the fine, pillowy sand between your toes. To not be wet all the time with hair clung onto your skin. Undoubtedly, it was also easier to focus when this man didn’t have his loincloth stuck to himself, thick bulge on full display.

Most of the days began with you prancing on over, and him guiding you to the pit of sand right outside his marui. Bringing you to your knees with a slight tug of your arms, then kneeling with you. And soon you would be facing one another, in comfortable silence, staring into each other’s eyes. It seemed to be his favourite part of the day. To watch you be brought to your knees in front him, even if its only for a split second before he joined you.

He took each day slowly, starting with the most basic signs. Going over them twice. Thrice. Just to ‘make sure’ you knew them. By the middle of the week, he established his first rule. No talking. From the hellos to the goodbyes, everything must be signed. And if you spoke in casual conversation, he would not answer. This made it even more difficult to poke your figurative finger at him. To find out more about this man before you had to part ways. You did your best to abide by this rule, until you couldn’t ignore the itch anymore.

So, you scratched it.

Ralak balls his fist in the middle of his chest, extending it outwards as he opens it and wiggles his fingers.

“Thank you!” you blurt out, straightening your spine and smiling wide.

Ralak gives you a firm nod, quick to move to the next sign. He sweeps his hands away from his forehead, extending them towards you.

“I see you” your voice fades, almost as if you were saying it seriously. Sensually.

He smiles a little, giving you another nod. A moment of silence fills the space between you two. A moment where he just stares, allowing his eyes to trail your body. The way your knees sink into the sand. Your small hands resting on your thighs. The flap of your loincloth draping between your legs. He wants to sign it back. So badly. But you were still his student. His numeyu [student].

He knew he could do it – maintain his composure, that is. Just until after your iknimaya at least. And then he would ask Jake and Tonowari for your hand. He’s patient. Confident in himself that he could do this. Which is why he had to get you out of the water for a while. To stop your breasts from bouncing with the tide, and your nipples from peeking through your beaded top.

“C’mon, give me something harder. I know those.” you break the silence, repositioning yourself in the dip of your feet.

Ralak blinks a few times, reentering his train of thought. He nods with a slight smile and raises both his arms, hands at ear level with his pointer fingers straightened in the air. He quickly brings them together, allowing for a little space between his fists. He cocks his brow, waiting for your answer.

“Siv-ako?” the word is broken, full of uncertainty.

“Ah. That’s a good girl.” he speaks for the first time, voice extra husky and gruff. He couldn’t fight it – the urge to praise you. Honestly, he’s having a hard time fighting a lot of his ‘urges’ today. He takes a deep breath, hoping to recenter himself, but it only seems makes things worse – making him light in the head.

Oh? Good girl?

The words echo in your skull, heart beating a thump too quick. You can’t stop rub of your thighs; they’re doing it all on their own. You hide your flushed face, looking down at how your lap squirms about, only making your cheeks hotter. Your body seems to be extra sensitive today, skin prickling at the slightest touch – the mere sound of his voice.

“Ralak.” you practically pant, raising your head to look at him. ‘What is the sign for m-a-t-e?’ you sign, fingerspelling the last word.

The glow in your cheeks is catching, heat spreading to the tips of his ears. He swallows thickly, taking quick, shallow breaths to prevent himself from becoming anymore light-headed. He signs a similar sign as ‘friends’, but instead of all four fingers, he uses only two [I made this shit up].

Your lips pucker in understanding as you nod slowly, holding your hands in the air, carefully creating the motions with your fingers. The figurative - or not so figurative anymore - finger comes out to play.

‘Do you have a mate?’ you sign.

He cocks a brow, ‘No’.

‘Why? Not hiding one in your marui?’ you sign back.

His brows gather, yet a smile creeps on his face. He’s impressed with you, signing so well for him. He entertains the conversation – your snarky comments – curious to see where you’re going with this. ‘No.’ he scoffs a little, shaking his head.

You stare at him in silence, waiting for the reason why.

He tilts his head, half lidded eyes turning beady. ‘My trust was broken.’

Your brows lower in inquisitiveness, or perhaps confusion. Maybe you misread what he signed. ‘Broken? Who?’ you sign, stressing on the ‘who’.

His eyelids flutter a little, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he huffs out a sigh. His way of expressing hesitation – uncertainty if he should open-up. To let you in. To tell you. You try reassuring him with your eyes, letting him know it’s alright to tell you. He briefly looks out to the horizon before looking back at you. His hands raise once more.

‘A woman who used me.’

You shake your head, unable to fully understand what he means. You understand the signs, but a woman using him? In what way? To carry her belongings? ‘Use you how?’

Now his true expression of hesitation comes forth. Flattened ears, slumped shoulders and brows so tightly pinched they may unify. If he told you, what would happen? Would you look at him the same? Would you accept his offer after your iknimaya? The event replays so vividly he feels like he’s back in the moment.

The moment where an older woman he trusted manipulated him into touching her, to fondle her, when he didn’t want to. When she made him feel like he had no other choice, like he couldn’t say no, or walk away. Young, naïve Ralak. At the merciless hands of her...

‘Heat’.

And just like that, his expert façade of indifference washes over his face. You can literally see him retreat, the crack in his spirit splitting further apart. Like recalling the memory put him back into the moment to feel the hurt of what he just signed.

Meanwhile, your gears were grinding twice as hard to figure out his single sign. You mirror the motion, fingers bending and overlapping slowly to figure it out. You couldn’t even guess. It looked nothing like any other sign you had seen before. Defeated, you shake your head and shrug your shoulders.

“I-I don’t understand, karyu.”

Eyelids fluttering momentarily, a blank stare bores into your eyes. “Heat.” he says the word whilst gesturing the sign. “She used me for her heat. Many years ago. I was... young.” he begins explaining, trying to maintain eye contact with you as it drifts down to your lap. 'Naïve' he signs the last word.

You hear the words he’s saying. ‘Used’, ‘Young’, ‘Naïve”.

Yet all you could feel was the fire in your own heart. A blaze so big, so menacing it spills over into your chest. Making it cave in on itself. Like hairline fractures are running through each rib, making the foundation of your chest crumble. Jagged edges impaling your heart, the fire spread throughout your entire being.

Why did it hurt so much to hear that this grown man had sexual experience? Why did your heart ache at the thought of him with someone else? Was he always this way? A man willing to calm any na’vi he encounters in heat?

It just slips out.

“So what? Any na’vi woman in heat that you come across gets your help?” you snap, eyes burning from the tears that threaten to fill them.

Eywa, that stung.

It stung this gentle giant so bad that he grimaces. Like really grimaces. His top lip twitches, seemingly from anger. Anger at himself for telling you. He grinds his teeth so hard he may chip one. His head drops, eyes slamming shut to focus on calming that budding tightness in his own chest.

“Y/n” he growls, one of the few times he’s called you by your name.

You’ve come to learn that it usually means he’s frustrated with you. How could he be frustrated with you? He had no right. You can’t hold back the scoff bubbling up your throat, the shake of your head and the roll of your eyes.

“I guess that means you’ll help me when I’m in heat then, won’t you?”

He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as he finally shuffles to his feet. He towers over your kneeling frame now, exuding the same level of intimidation when you first met. He’s trying his hardest to hold his tongue, but the words slip off it so effortlessly.

“Have you even gotten your heat yet?” he asks patronizingly.

There the tears go, rolling down the swell of your cheeks. Of course, you hadn’t. You were a late bloomer in all aspects of life, even this one.

But why were you feeling so sensitive about all of this? So moody and vulnerable? To the point of tears and condescending comments. It’s silly, really. Prying your nose into this grown man’s life only to get upset with him when he lets you in. Like you were anything special to him for you to be feeling this way.

He had never seen you cry before. Not like this. It melts his hardened heart, softening his exterior with it. You’re still young, still learning. He had let his feelings get the best of him, allowing his composure to break down for a split second. It doesn’t help that he was quite literally looking down at you, towering over your tiny stature.

‘I’m sorry’, he signs. “I should not have said that.”

“Don’t be. You’re r-right. I haven’t.” you sputter, breath hitching from your crying. “Almost twenty with no heat. Just a big fuck up.” you stand on your feet, turning your heel to leave.

“You should not be walking by yourself right now –” he begins, walking towards you, but you only walk away faster. “Tanhì!” he calls, voice cracking.

You stop dead in your tracks and turn back to look at him, tears streaming down your face. “Don’t call me that, Ralak.”

Dark grey clouds crowd the sky, darkening the ambiance. He opens his mouth to speak when a clap of thunder pierces the air. The sound of distant rain grows louder. With his attention averted to the sky, you take your chance and run. All the way back to your family marui as fast as your two left feet can go.

Downpour.

So hard and heavy you can barely see where you’re going. It’s so foggy and hazy that you cross your fingers and hope the marui pod you’re walking into is your own. Yanking back the flap, you duck under the doorframe, dripping wet. Jake and Neteyam stop their dinner preparations and look at you. They see the tears streaming down your face.

“Babygirl?” Jake rushes to his feet, voice frantic.

“Is it Ralak?” Neteyam snarls.

“Just, leave me alone.” you spit, hiding away into your little corner, pulling back your privacy curtain. You slump into your bed, burying your face into the pillow you made from feathers, and cried your eyes out, listening to the pitter patter of the rain on the taut material of your marui.

How fucking embarrassing. You always fuck up, y/n.

How could you be so stupid? To think that there was meaning behind the nicknames, the hugs... the moments. He’s just a teacher trying to tutor his pupil. His pupil that could never get shit right. That’s why he was so patient. So sweet. It was all just an order given by the chief. Not only that, but you were wrong. Totally in the wrong to even ask him such a personal question. But to throw it in his face after he opened-up about it?

Eywa, y/n. You stupid girl.

You feel terrible. Guilt filling your stomach to the brim that you feel queasy. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. So uneasy that you feel like you may throw up. You curl into a ball, clutching your knees as you bring them to your chest to cry.

And cry. And cry. And cry.

Until your eyes are so puffy, so raw that you can barely see. Until there’s two of everything. Your head begins to pound. Thump. Thump. Thump. Your eyes and teeth pulse with it. Yet all that’s running through your mind is Ralak. Ralak. Ralak.

How you feel so bad about what you said, about what happened to him. Not giving him the chance to speak before jumping down his throat. After he’s been nothing but patient with you. Handling you with care and gentle hands. Encouraging you with his words, albeit few. Letting you in when he had built such a tall, thick wall.

Letting you touch him – touch his most intimate tattoo.

The way his core flexed to jerk his hips away from you. The sound of his grunts when he’s a little frustrated. Flustered. Especially when you tend to his wounds. When you run your fingers along his body, searching for more scrapes and ‘scratches’. The way he looks at you when he’s counting your freckles.

When he calls you tanhì.

Whenever the word slipped off his tongue, it always made your face hot. Just like now. Blushing at the mere thought. Cheeks heating up to a critical degree. Body heating up with it. It feels like you’re on fire – a scorching heat radiating from your core to your extremities. It feels like a fever dream.

Or perhaps it’s just a fever. Sick from the rain, as they would say. Making you shiver and shake, yet also kick off the sheet that’s covering your body. Maybe it was the swoosh of the heavy rain, but you couldn’t hear your own thoughts. All you wanted to do was to make things right. To apologize for your shitty behaviour.

You had to do it. Now.

A surge of good ol’ determination rushes through you, bringing you to your feet. You wipe the snot off your face and rush out the tent, Jake and Neteyam calling after you. Saying something about the eclipse beginning. A storm forming. You can’t really hear them. It’s all an echo, reverberating in your skull. You wave them off and make quick strides towards his marui.

You feel dizzy. Like the world is spinning around you but it didn’t matter. You’re too focused on making things right. Getting rid of this queasiness. Fixing the one good thing you had for yourself in this wetland. Sand spills between your toes, you can feel it. You’re here.

“Ralak!” you try to shout, only for it to come out as a hoarse cry. “Ralak!”

You look around through blurred vision, the ocean is empty. Of course, it is. The ripple of raindrops piercing the water, the furious push and pull of the tide, the waves that crash violently into the shore – it’s storming. Head snapping to the right, you find that his marui is dark, seemingly with nobody home.

Where is he?

Eyes falling on your own feet, you catch sight of deep footprints in the wet sand, leading inland under the tall mangroves. Tracking the impressions, you find yourself standing at the opening of a cave, tucked away deep into the webs of mangrove roots. A hidden spot, with a lake, lit up by the bioluminescent fauna stuck to the stalagmites hanging from the ceiling. When you see him, it’s like your vision clears. Crystal clear. He’s –

Bathing.

Standing thigh deep in the water, wet hair stuck to his chest. His bioluminescent freckles twinkle brightly, reflecting against the water’s surface. His ears are tucked in, relaxing against his skull, eyes lidded and heavy. Tattoos bold and prominent, they accentuate his muscular physique. Gravity of pandora in full motion, water droplets dribble down his body. Down his jaw. His chest. His stomach. His –

Oh, fuck.

You tell your eyes to move. To look away. Close. Anything. But they don’t. They stare. Taking in every detail of his thick, half-hard cock, partially submerged in the water. You come to the realization of how he never actually showed you his full tattoo, as the ends of it encircled the base of his length. Eywa, he’s huge. You swallow thickly at the sight, cheeks growing even hotter.

“Ralak.” a whisper parts your lips, eyelids fluttering wildly before you can pull your eyes away. “Sorry. I-I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No need.” he mutters, continuing his bath.

He knew you were standing there all this time. He could sense you. Smell you. And Eywa, it took every bone and fiber in his body to maintain the sliver of composure he has left. He isn’t shy about his body and honestly, didn’t mind if you saw.

He turns to you, flicking his gaze up to meet yours, pupils blown. “You should go home, y/n.” he says as calmly as he can.

“Ralak. I’m sorry for what I said to you. I had no right.” you say, turning your head to look away from his body. It only made things worse for you, making the wooziness unbearable. Making you struggle with your words. “I-I don’t know why I got so upset. I’m not sure –”

“You are sensitive right now. I am not... upset.” he states, accent thick as tree sap.

“What?” you blurt out, looking back at him as you walk into the cave.

Sensitive? What does he mean?

“Y/n. You should go home.”

Hearing your name makes your heart sink. You wish you never told him to stop calling you tanhì. “What do you mean?”

“Look. I am sorry about what I said to you, y/n. But you need to go home.” he says through gritted teeth, as if he were having a hard time withholding his 'anger'.

“No. No. Ralak. I-I’m sorry, too. I just – I want to make this right. I-I feel like I can’t even think clearly right now. But I know that I made a mistake. I’m sorry.” you blubber out, entering the water to walk closer to him.

“Y/n” he growls, stepping back a little. “Please. You said it yourself. You cannot think clearly.”

“Ralak.” you croak, tears welling up in your eyes once more.

Blown pupils peer down at you, eyelids so heavy they look like they may close. “Go.”

Your bottom lip trembles, heart aching from him shooing you away. It feels like your throat is closing, vision blurring so badly that you could barely see him. You try to say the words, only for them to catch in your throat.

‘I was jealous.’ you sign, tears flowing down your cheeks. ‘I was wrong. I am no one to you to be upset with you for being with another.’ you string the words together to the best of your abilities, unsure if they even make sense.

“Oh, y/n. It is not as you think. I have not... given myself to anyone.” he struggles to explain, the heat of your body transferring to his. “Please, do not cry.” his voice falters, brows lowering, blown pupils flickering as they search your puffy face.

Relief. Radiating through your body. Your body yearned for him now, more than ever. For him to be your first. For you to be his first. To mate.

“Then w-what?” the words dislodge from your throat.

“She took advantage of me. Coerced me. But never farther than this” he raises his hand, moving his fingers.

“Karyu. I’m so sorry. I-I would never –” you cry, gripping two of his fingers.

“Shh. It is alright. I’m sorry, too” he hushes you, bringing your hand to his chest.

“I feel so... so overwhelmed right now. I don’t u-understand it.” your teeth begin to chatter as you finally close the gap between your bodies, slumping into him for one of his hugs. “I think have feelings for my karyu.”

He embraces you, holding you close to his body. “And I have fallen for my numeyu” he chokes out, having a hard time catching his own breath.

Your head snaps up, glossy, panicked eyes glaring up into his. You have a hard time processing what he’s saying, all you can see is the strain on his face as he tries his hardest to remain calm.

“Mawey. Mawey [calm]. Everything is heightened for you now. You’re alright.” he hums shakily, rubbing your back.

“I feel... s-so weird, so hot.” you hiccup, taking those deep breaths that you normally take when you hug him, overfilling your lungs with his scent.

It smells so good today. So good you wish you could bathe in it. Coat your body in his scent. You rub your face into his chest, trying to smear it on your skin. It calms you down, steadying your galloping heart and slowing your shaky breaths.

“Tanhì.” he heaves a strained sigh, heavy lidded eyes squeezing tightly.

“Lak.” you breathe, body pressing into his.

“Do you want me to?” he whispers, arm snaking around your waist to bring you closer.

“Hm?” you purr into his chest, rubbing your thighs together.

“Do you want me to help you when you get your heat?” he gruffly pants the words.

This morning replays in your head. All the hurtful words you said to him and the question that came shortly after.

‘I guess that means if I’m in heat then you’ll ‘help’ me then, won’t you?’

“Yes, please.” you exhale, head nodding in his chest.

With that, he holds your trembling body closer, allowing himself to take a full breath, filling his lungs with your scent. Your pheromones. This is the first time he’s letting himself savour them. He’s been picking up your scent all day, trying his hardest not to give into his primal urges to scent you himself – to mark you as his. Eywa, it’s divine. It’s so sweet, and fruity. Nothing like the fruits of the sea.

His scent grows stronger, his body simply responding to yours. His pheromones make you feel feverish, skin prickling from the fingertips that graze your waist. Your heart thumps wildly between your ribs just as your double vision sets in. A sharp heat shoots down your spine, and pools in your core. Soon you’re panting and sweating in his arms, shaking uncontrollably as you squeeze your trembling legs tighter.

It frightens you.

“Ralak. I-I don’t know w-what’s – happening to me. What’s – what’s happening to me?” you blubber, voice full of panic.

“It is your heat, tanhì.”

“My h-heat?” you squirm in his chest, rubbing your body all over his – unknowingly scenting him.

“Mm-mhm.” he hums, fingers working at the knot of your loincloth. “Is this okay?”

“Yes. Yes.” you moan softly, legs parting to help him take the soddened cloth off you.

Once the knot comes undone, the cloth floats freely in the water, drifting away from you. In one swift movement, he lifts you up and wraps your legs around his waist. Another breathy moan parts your lips, your clit finally getting the attention it’s been swelling for. You instinctively cling on to him, snaking your arms around his neck.

He supports your body with one hand under your upper thigh, whilst his free hand cups the back of your head, fingers interlacing with your hair. For a moment, you both indulge yourselves in each other’s scent, rubbing your noses into one another’s neck. It’s almost suffocating. So suffocating that you both pull up simultaneously to gasp for air. Pupils completely blown, you stare into each other’s eyes, panting shakily – lips inching closer and closer together.

He lingers there, flushed lips parted, waiting patiently for your move. For your touch. For your command. You couldn’t take it anymore. The tension is strung too tight that you can feel it in your core, about to snap. Your foreheads touch, noses rubbing together, lips brushing against one another.

“Kiss me.” you mewl needily.

Before you know it, his lips crash into yours roughly, almost bruising them. He’s so hungry for you. For your touch. He’s wanted this for so, so long. Peak of your heat quickly approaching, he wills himself to regain his control. To take it easy with you on your first time.

“My paysyul.” he pants into your mouth, tongue swiping against your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth.

You hum with fervour, allowing your tongue to explore his mouth – to intertwine with his. His fingers untangle from your hair, and cup your cheek, pulling you in closer to deepen the kiss. Soon you’re sharing the same breath, making everything even more hazy.

A large hand slides down your neck and grips it gently, earning him a sudden, breathy moan. Legs tightening around his waist, your hips stutter on their own, desperately trying to find something hump against.

Reading your needy body language, his hand quickly moves down your chest, pulling up one side of your beaded top to reveal your round breast and peaked nipple. He rolls it between his fingers as gently as possible, sending little shocks throughout your breast. The sensation sends your hips into a frenzy, gliding your clit back and forth over each ab muscle.

“Ugh – oh!” you cry out, jaw locking as your mouth hangs agape. Your wetness is overflowing, coating his stomach in a thick layer of slick. The jerk of your hips becomes easier, gliding up and down his stomach even faster. Your teeth click together, eyes watering as you desperately chase the budding feeling in your core.

The little, filthy sounds coming from your mouth only rile him up more, ebbing away more of his restraint. His cock springs up, swollen head smacking against your thigh, quick movements providing just enough friction on his tip, making his hips stammer too. Soon your bodies fall under the trance of your heat, desperately grinding into one another.

The urge to touch, no – to be inside you is overwhelming. He wants to know how your gummy walls feel around his cock. But he knows that your too small to take him, that he would have to stretch you out first. Prepare your little body so it wouldn’t hurt.

His hand works its way from your breast, down to your stomach where he lingers for some time. His fingers play in the dip of your navel as they slide between your sticky pelvis and his stomach, parting your folds carefully. Hips snapping back, you open yourself up to his touches, resting your chin in the dip of his collarbone.

“This okay?” he asks quickly, fingertips finding the bundle of nerves at the peak of your slit.

“Mm-mhm! Please -” you whine lengthily, frustration so pent up it leaves you breathless.

“Breathe, tanhì.” he hums, fingers rubbing tight circles into your clit.

You gasp for air, a cool sensation filling your lungs. It feels so good – so much better than the way you do it before you go to sleep. You try hard to focus on the budding feeling in your core, to chase it so you can finally know what an orgasm feels like. But this was just another thing that you struggled with.

“Used fingers before?” he huffs in your ear, sliding two fingers down to your entrance.

“T-tried it... once.” you admit timidly.

“How many?” he rasps, pulling a finger back into his palm, leaving only one to prod at your slit.

His strong scent disorients you, leaving you in such a befuddled state that you ignore his question and snuggle into the crook of his neck.

“Tell me, tanhì. Quickly.” he pants.

“One.” you mumble, grazing your canines on his pulsing throat as you suckle on his skin, leaving behind a bruise-like mark. Surely one of his is equivalent to almost two of yours. He knew that this was going to hurt if he didn’t take his time with you and let you fully adjust to something inside you.

“Tell me if you feel pain.” he grunts, sliding his finger inside you to the first knuckle. You let out a little whimper, walls clamping tightly around his finger. “Feel okay?”

You nod franticly, burying your grimaced face into his chest. “Mhmm.” You wiggle your hips, desperately trying to take more of him inside you. He follows your movements, ensuring not to slide it in any further just yet. “M-more please”

“Patience, tanhì”

You’ll admit, it burned a little. It was the biggest stretch you’ve had so far, but the slickness of your heat made it so that his finger slid in easily. “Please. It. It feels... feels weird, Ralak.”

“I know, I know.” he coos, feeling your walls relax around his knuckle. “I'm going to make it go away, take a breath for me.”

You inhale deeply, just as you would before a breathing lesson, holding it deep in your stomach rather than your chest. He slides his finger inside you to his second knuckle, keeping it there while you adjust some more. Your grip around his neck tightens, fingernails digging into his turquoise skin just as you release your breath - blowing hot air onto his chest. The way his finger stretches you out brings tears to your eyes. Tears of ecstasy - of satiation. Satiating an itch that you weren’t even aware of.

“More!” Desperation plagues your trembling voice.

He knows better than to listen to the words that come out your mouth and listen to what your body is saying to him instead. It’s not his first time dealing with a na’vi in heat, albeit by force. It feels so similar, the influence your heat has on him. But yours is so much more intense. Feelings of uncertainty creep in, muddling with all the other emotions he’s trying to deal with. He didn’t want to be used again.

She’s not her. He reminds himself, persevering through the hesitancy. “Ready?”

“Yes. Yes Ralak.” You hold on to him tighter - closer.

Your pheromones already had him in a trance, gritting his teeth just so he could maintain his composure. He’d never been influenced by pheromones like this - so strong and potent. Perhaps it’s because it’s your first heat, or maybe it’s because you’re the na’vi he has the urge to protect most – to mate with.

He finds himself taking deep, long breaths. The kind he takes before going spear fishing in the depths of the ocean. Your scent fills his head, making him woozy. Blood rushes to his face, turning it hot and flushed – stained with a tinge of pink. Oh, to make a gentle giant like Ralak blush.

He exhales as he gently slides the rest of his digit inside of your slippery pussy. You both groan in unison, just as your tightness clamps down around his finger - your nails scraping down his back. You’re so, so wet that your glossy, slick coats his knuckles, dribbling down his hand to his wrist.

“Shit.” he lets out a curse, something he rarely does. “How are you this wet?”

He really shouldn’t compare, but he’s never seen a na’vi in heat so soaked. You couldn’t help it really, your feelings for him are so strong that they feel overwhelming at times. Times like right now, where your feelings overflow and have nowhere else to go but between your legs, making a mess all over your thighs. “S-sorry” you pant, your soft, petite body shuddering in his grasp.

“Never apologize for that.”

The first curl of his finger earns a loud, sudden moan from your throat, just as his grip on the fleshiness of your thigh tightens. His cock is so painfully hard, turning veiny and almost blue. All he wants to do is replace his finger with his cock but, he can’t. Not when you’re this tight. The way your gummy walls grip so tightly around his finger makes it hard to even move it.

“Ra-lak” the word momentarily catches in your throat just as he curls his finger once more.

“Mm?” He hums, eyes squeezed shut, brows gathering.

“Ngh – feels... s-so good. Please.” you beg quietly, squeezing his waist with your legs as your body tries to shove his finger deeper inside you.

“There it is.” he grunts, listening to your body’s commands.

He roughly furls and unfurls his finger inside you, rubbing the pad of his fingertip against the warm, spongey part of your cunt. Each hook of his finger works out a squelching noise, and a breathy mewl from your mouth. Soon you’re panting into his chest, trying to keep your soft moans to a minimum as he picks up the pace.

There was really no point, as the more he fucks you out with a single finger, the more your moans lose their softness. His ears perk up higher and higher as the volume of your sweet, filthy moans grow louder and louder, making his rock-hard cock twitch against your thigh.

Your sweet spot swells with pleasure, moans becoming deeper and strained. He knows you’re close. So close that you were going to cum on his finger any minute, just by the way your pussy walls clench tightly around his finger. He feels the tension in your body, the way it seizes up, trying to fight the unbearable heat pooling in your pelvis. His dazed eyes open, scent of your pheromones wafting up his nose as he lowers his head, mouth next to the shell of your ear.

“Don’t fight it.” he whispers.

Your moans quiet down into low, laboured pants as you try to relax your tensed muscles. You’re having a hard time, and he can sense it.

“Let it happen, my paysyul. I'm right here.” he hums, using his thumb to rub loose, slow circles into your puffy clit.

“Mmmn! I-I can’t. Ra – ah haah, ngh! ‘ts t-too much – too much!” your shaky breaths hiccup as you shake your head side to side in his chest.

“Cum for your karyu.” he encourages you, tightening the circles and picking up the speed of his thumb.

Of course, your karyu would be the one to teach you how to cum.

The sound of his husky voice in your ear sends you over the edge – heated coil unravelling, stomach muscles relaxing. It’s as if your body were responding to his command all on its own. This foreign feeling was just too good – too euphoric. You pull up suddenly from his chest, gasping for air as your entire body convulses in his grip.

“Oh, f-fuck!” you shout, tears streaming down your face.

“There you go. Good girl.” he grunts low in his chest.

He relishes in the quick flutter of your pussy walls around his finger. The way your cum dribbles down his arm. The way you’re staring into his eyes with your mouth open, releasing silent screams into the air. He can feel the beads of precum oozing from his tip, dripping down his pulsing length and onto his swollen balls.

He keeps his finger buried deep inside you, waiting patiently for you to come down from your high. Your sputtering broken words into his ear, body going limp in his grip. He could tell it was time to get you comfortable for the long night ahead. Ralak moves quickly through the storm, bringing you up to his marui.

A whine splits your lips when he tenderly pulls his finger out of you, laying you down on his bed. It’s so warm and cozy, soft sheeting fluffed up around your shivering body. You give in to the pull of your eyelids, resting them for a couple seconds. Ralak settles himself behind you, pressing his body against yours and wrapping his arms around your waist.

It feels so good, so right. The way his body completely envelopes yours, acting as your own personal shield. You back yourself up onto him, rubbing the swell of your ass on his cock – glossy from his precum. Your body moves on its own, a hand sliding down his crotch to wrap your fingers around his girth.

Fingertips barely touching one another, you stroke half the length of his cock, feeling it warm up in your hand. His breath is heavy and hot, right in the shell of your ear. He nuzzles his face into your neck, peppering wet kisses down to your shoulder. Eywa, how you wanted him to be inside you, filling you up and making you feel full.

There’s a dull ache, deep in your womb. So deep that only something this big could make it go away. Every bone and fiber in your body is screaming for you to shove his cock inside. It’s so loud you can’t ignore them anymore, the need to be fucked.

“Lak.” you mumble, half awake.

“Mm?” he hums with fervour, cock finally getting the attention it’s been begging for.

“Want you inside.” you breathe, positioning his swollen tip to your entrance.

His hips snap back, pulling himself away from you. “Not today.”

“Please.” you whine, backing up on him once more. “My body n-needs you.”

“It will hurt, tanhì.” he mumbles between kisses, holding your hips to push them away. “Another day.”

You didn’t want to take no for an answer. Your body pined for him to stretch you out and fill you up. Your back arches as you slump your head back into his shoulder, opening your neck to his kisses. “Please, please.” you beg,

“Not when you are in heat. Not when we are not mated.” he groans, reluctantly pulling his aching cock away from your soft pussy lips.

“F-fuck. I can’t take this. I can’t. It’s – it’s too much. Please, Ralak.” you whine, squirming around from the sensation in your womb, lying on your back.

“Mawey. We will get through this.” he coos, sliding his hand down your stomach to your cunt.

Instinctively, your legs spread, welcoming the fingers that slide up and down between your folds. He slides a finger in easily, hooking it right into the gummy part of your heat, slowly massaging circles into it. He grinds his cock into your thigh, coating it with his own slick as he works yet another orgasm out of you.

“Just like last time” he coaches you through it, your breathy moans increasing in volume. “Relax, and let it happen” his words bounce with the thrust of his hips, chasing his own climax against your slickened thigh. Your walls contract, just as they did when you were about to cum. And then you lose it, walls suddenly relaxing around his digit.

“Again. Listen to your body.” he grunts, planting an encouraging kiss behind your ear.

Focusing on the budding feeling, your hands grip his veiny forearm, using it as leverage to hump his hand. You let go, allowing your body to take over. Head sinking back into the softness of the bed, you grind erratically into his hand.

“I’m close – s-so close!” you cry out, eyes popping open as your body tenses.

“Good girl, ride it out.” his voice is thick with desire, shaky from the buck of his hips. He’s on the edge, forcing himself to wait for you to cum before he does. Your hips lift in the air, his hand following with them. “Go on, let go.”

“Ra – lak! Cumming! Cumming!” you release a sudden, strained whine.

Just as your pussy walls flutter around his finger, he quickly slides a second one in, masking the pain of the stretch with the pleasure of your orgasm. With two fingers deep inside your cunt, your body convulses from satiation and pleasure, feeling stuffed to the brim.

“That’s it.” He growls low in his chest, eyes squeezing shut as he gives your thigh a few hard thrusts. Guttural noises picking up in volume and bass, he listens to his own body, spurting his warm, thick cum all over your thigh and stomach. He opens his eyes, to see a jaded look on your face as you calm down from your heat.

“I love you, my tanhì” he mumbles in your ear, fingers still inside you.

“I love you, my karyu.” you barely get out, eyelids falling shut.

He leans over you, using his free hand to grab the cloth next to his bed to clean you up with. He knew better than to take his fingers out of you, and to think that this was all over. It was only the beginning of a long night ahead.

And oh Eywa, it was.

Every few hours, you’d wake up sweating and squirming from your heat, backing yourself up onto Ralak’s warm body, begging for his touches. He’d be quick to oblige, curling the fingers that remain inside you for the entire night, making you cum as many times as you wanted. The only thing he wouldn’t give into were your pleas to be fucked. That was one thing he maintained his composure about.

----

“Y/n. For the love of Christ, you better tell me that the storm held ya up last night.” Jakes voice rings in your ear, waking you up.

Oh shit.

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mariacallous · 2 months ago

Text

“There are only so many books on Ukraine we can review each month,” an editor from a major British newspaper tells me at one of the country’s largest literary festivals. He looks a bit uncomfortable, almost apologetic. He wants me to understand that if it were up to him, he’d review a book on Ukraine every day, but that’s just not how the industry works.

Since the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion, I’ve had a glimpse into how several industries work: Publishing, journalism, and the broader world of culture, including galleries and museums. Even before the big war, I knew more than I wanted to about how academia works (or rather doesn’t) when it comes to Ukraine. A common thread among all these fields is the limited attention they allocate to countries that do not occupy a place among the traditional big players of imperial politics.

Cultural imperialism lives on, even if its carriers often proclaim anti-colonial slogans. It thrives in gate-keeping, with editors and academics mistrusting voices that don’t sound like those higher up the ladder, while platforming those who have habitually been accepted as authoritative. “We’ve done Ukraine already” is a frequent response whenever you pitch an idea, text, or public event centering the country.

The editor who can’t keep publishing reviews of Ukraine-related books walks away, and I pick up a copy of one of the UK’s most prominent literary magazines to see their book recommendations. Out of a handful of reviews, three are on recent books about Russia. It seems like the space afforded to Russia remains unlimited. I close the publication to keep my blood pressure down.

Keeping my blood pressure down, however, is challenging. When my social media feeds aren’t advertising another production of Uncle Vanya, they’re urging me to splash out on opera tickets for Eugene Onegin. What happened to the dreaded “cancelling” of Russian culture? The Russia section in most bookshops I visit in the UK is growing daily with everything from yet another translation of Dostoevsky to accounts of opposition figures killed or imprisoned by the Kremlin.

The international media focus on the August 2024 release of Russian political prisoners was yet another example of how the more things change, the more they stay the same. While these released prisoners were provided with a global media platform to call for an end to “unfair” sanctions on “ordinary Russians,” there was no mention of the thousands of Ukrainian civilians who continue to languish in Russian jails.

The ongoing international emphasis on all things Russian goes hand in hand with a reluctance to transform growing interest in Ukraine into meaningful structural changes in how the country is perceived, reported on, and understood. Although there has been some improvement in knowledge about Ukraine since 2022, the move is essentially from having no understanding to having a superficial grasp.

Each time I read a piece on Ukraine by someone not well-versed in the country’s history and politics, my heart sinks. The chances are it will recycle historical cliches, repeat Kremlin propaganda about Russophone Ukrainians, or generalize about regional differences. And to add insult to injury, such articles also often misspell at least one family or place name, using outdated Russian transliterations. A quick Google search or a message to an actual Ukrainian could prevent these errors and save the author from looking foolish. Yet aiding this kind of colonial complacency seems to bother neither the authors nor the editors involved.

I often wonder what would happen if I wrote a piece on British or US politics and misspelt the names of historical figures, towns, and cities. How likely would I be to get it published? And yet the same standards do not apply when it comes to writing about countries that have not been granted priority status in our mental hierarchies of the world. We can misspell them all we like; no one will notice anyway. Apart from the people from those countries, of course. And when an exasperated Ukrainian writes to complain, I can almost see the editors rolling their eyes and thinking, “What does this perpetually frustrated nation want now? We’ve done Ukraine. Why are they never satisfied?”

It is not enough to simply “do Ukraine” by reviewing one book on the war, especially if it’s by a Western journalist rather than a Ukraine-based author. It’s not enough to host one exhibition, particularly if it is by an artist or photographer who only spent a few weeks in the country. Quickly putting together a panel on Russia’s war in response to a major development at the front and adding a sole Ukrainian voice at the last minute doesn’t cut it either. This box-ticking approach is unhelpful and insulting.

It is important to acknowledge that some Western media outlets have significantly enhanced their coverage of Ukraine over the past two and a half years. They have typically done so by dedicating time and resources to having in-house experts who have either reported from Ukraine for many years, or who are committed to deepening their knowledge enough to produce high-quality analysis. However, many of these outlets still seem compelled to provide platforms for individuals entirely unqualified to analyse the region. Surely this isn’t what balance means?

Since February 2022, more than 100 Ukrainian cultural figures have been killed in the war. According to the Ukrainian Ministry of Culture, by May 2024, over 2,000 cultural institutions had been damaged or destroyed. This includes 711 libraries, 116 museums and galleries, and 37 theatres, cinemas, and concert halls. In May 2024, Russia bombed Factor Druk, the country’s biggest printing house.

When I attended this year’s Kyiv Book Arsenal, Ukraine’s largest literary festival, each panel began with a minute of silence to honor the memory of colleagues killed in the war. All this is in addition to mounting military losses, many of whom are yesterday’s civilians, including journalists and creatives who have either volunteered or been drafted into the army. This is the current state of the Ukrainian creative industry.

To save time for Western editors, publishers, and curators, let me clarify what all of us perpetually frustrated Ukrainians want. We would appreciate it if they turned to actual Ukraine specialists when working on Ukraine-related themes. Not those who suddenly pivoted from specializing in Russia, or who feel entitled to speak authoritatively because they discovered a distant Ukrainian ancestor, or those who have only recently shown interest in Ukraine due to business opportunities in the country’s reconstruction. We would be grateful if they took the time to seek out experts who have been studying Ukraine long before it became fashionable, who understand the country in all its complexity, and who care enough to offer Ukrainians the basic dignity of having their names spelt correctly.

I like to fantasise about a time when editors of top Western periodicals will choose to review books on Ukraine not simply because the country is at war and they feel obliged to cover it now and again, but because these books offer vital insights into democracy, the fight for freedom, or the importance of maintaining unity and a sense of humor in times of crisis. I hope for a day when galleries will host exhibitions of Ukrainian art, not just because it was rescued from a war zone, but because the artists involved provide fresh perspectives on the world.

I also dream that we, the perpetually frustrated Ukraine specialists, will eventually be able to focus on our own scholarship and creativity rather than correcting the mistakes and misleading takes of others. This will happen when cultural institutions, publishing houses, universities, and newspapers acquire in-house experts whose knowledge of Ukraine and the wider region extends beyond Russia.

Dr Olesya Khromeychuk is a historian and writer. She is the author of The Death of a Soldier Told by His Sister (2022). Khromeychuk has written for The New York Times, The New York Review of Books, The Guardian, Der Spiegel, Prospect, and The New Statesman, and has delivered a TED talk on What the World Can Learn From Ukraine’s Fight for Democracy. She has taught the history of East-Central Europe at several British universities and is currently the Director of the Ukrainian Institute London.

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ocelettelatte · 1 year ago

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How are they when they do your hair?

Includes: Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Choso, Toji x Curly Hair!Reader. (+Todo Bonus) Author's Note: First and possibly the last post I'll make. Made this just for fun so the characters might be OOC. Self-indulgent, but I did try to make the reader ambiguous. Divider by @/saradika

Gojo

Gojo learns how to do your hair pretty quickly.

He watches you do it once and he’s able to do it almost immediately.

He’ll go all out for you. That hairstyle you saw online? Boom you got it.

That one hair product you wanted but were always told you needed some kind of license to get it? I don’t know how, but he got it.

Your hair gets the slightest bit messed up and he’s pissed for you. Just straight whiny about it.

Has given you mini heart attacks before. “My bad I messed up, we gotta go bald.” while braiding your hair...

Buys all kinds of charms and accessories for your hair.

While he knows you shouldn’t do it often, he actually likes your hair straight. It always amazes him how long your hair actually is.

He also loves curl-defining. Going one by one curling each ringlet with his finger is oddly satisfying to him.

Definitely uses all of your products. When you ask about it, he’ll deny it.

Nanami

Nanami likes your hair however you like it. braids, twists, dreads, loose, straightened, wigs, short. If you’re happy with it then he’s happy.

If you ask him to do your hair, he’ll keep it simple. Nothing too flashy but not too basic.

He does this because he always feels bad when you have the prettiest hairstyles, knowing you’ve spent hours on it and it just gets messed up because of your line of work.

The face you make when you tell him it’s fine always tugs at his heart.

However, this doesn't mean he won't give you a glamorous hairstyle for date nights.

Nanami has bought little charms for you to put in your hair and keeps everything you leave at his place in a little basket.

Helps you with your hair when you’re getting ready for bed.

Buys a silk pillowcase just for you.

If he sees you're running out of product he'll use the last of it and buy you new ones.

If there's a particular product you have to order online, Nanami knows exactly when to order said product.

Geto

You always let the twins do your hair, Nanako being the most interested in it. You see it as a learning experience for them.

However, You never let Geto touch your hair. You weren’t too fond of his choice of words when referring to non-sorcerers.

After a bit of warming up to one another, you finally allowed him to do your hair.

Geto absolutely loves braiding your hair.

I’ve always thought that Geto might have picked up on some mundane hobbies once he started his cult. One of those hobbies being Ikebana. Which is why he loves hair braiding.

After learning how many intricate things you could do with this style, it would become his go-to thing.

He has the gentlest hands when doing hair.

With permission, he would put flowers in your hair. Sometimes he’ll go the extra mile of getting you to wear a Hakama or Kimono just to tie the whole look together.

Granted, he knows that he has to give your scalp a break. On those days he actually likes your hair loose.

Choso

All of his experiences doing hair have only been on himself. So when he meets you, he learns so much about his and your hair.

Unfortunately, Choso is scared to touch your hair. The last time he did he tangled it pretty badly.

He is so gentle that things end up getting loose and he has to start over.

Still learning all the different hairstyles. Confuses twists for dreads.

Constantly asking if you’re okay and making sure that he’s not hurting you.

Sometimes he hesitates when doing your hair and you reassure him that he’s doing fine.

Either uses too much product or not enough. There’s no in-between.

If you ask him to buy shampoo and conditioner, he'll get a little overwhelmed and come back with three in one.

Loves giving you any hairstyle that has twin tails. He also likes to put little ribbons in your hair sometimes.

Toji

“Stop moving your damn head.” Kind of vibes.

Definitely rough and says that he’s not.

Most definitely would pop you with the comb.

All jokes aside, Toji is pretty good at doing your hair. Though it’s like pulling teeth trying to convince him to do it.

Prefers if you’ve done whatever you needed to your hair so he can style it however.

Toji doesn’t have a favorite style for you. At the end of the day, it’s just hair to him.

Your accessories are floating around his place. He even stepped on one.

Here's a bonus because Toji was so short!

Todo

Todo definitely has everything he needs to do your hair. Unfortunately, just like that one hair lady in your life, he’s hard to get a hold of.

This Takada mega fan will cancel on you when he finds out there’s an event in the area. Those days you’ve contemplated going bald…

The only reason why you keep going back to him is because he's so damn good at it. It’s just one-on-one... and the occasional mentions of Takada, but you can deal with that.

Has tried to convince you to lock your hair a handful of times.

Gave you starter locks to see if you like it. If you don’t he’ll do whatever you like.

“Stop being so tender-headed.”

"HOW!?"

He’s not gentle but he’s not rough either.

Silk. Pillow. I’m confident that he owns at least one.

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totaly-obsessed · 1 year ago

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Mess of a Mind

Alexia Putellas x reader

-> Alexia's life is much more chaotic with you and your ADHD - but she wouldn't change it for a thing

-> Based on my daily struggles in life

-> reader has ADHD

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The moment Alexia received a text from you that read ‘I’m gonna clean’ – she already knew that she was coming home to a bigger mess than before.

Your ADHD makes cleaning things much more complicated than they need to be. But you were sick of being useless in the house. Because with Ale being at training most days and you still in university you were definitely the one in the relationship with more time on their hands. And while your girlfriend definitely didn’t expect you to do everything in the house, helping out with some chores would be nice.

But there it is.

The dreaded word ‘chores’. As soon as something fell under the category, you were all of a sudden unable to do that.

Alexia had asked you to put the trash outside one morning before leaving for training – which you were going to do anyway. But now, that it was your chore? No chance. The blonde came home to no trash outside, but a mess on the inside.

But you didn’t do nothing. In fact – you were quite productive. All of the possible trashcans that were placed around your house were now labeled their respective contents in hand-placed crafting diamonds. Nala lying by your side, nose stuck into the front pocket of your (Alexia’s) Hoodie.

The moment you saw fuzzy socks standing in front of you, was when you realized that you were supposed to take the trash outside. You hadn’t even heard her come in. Ale however wasn’t mad at you, she could see that you had vacuumed the entire house, as well as unloaded the dishwasher. As always you had left the last item on top of the kitchen aisle when your brain was already finished with the task, when in actuality there was still something left.

“Hola bebe. What are you doing?”

It was moments like these that you realized how much of a saint your girlfriend really was. Mapi, like the curious cat she was, peeked at her friend’s phone – wondering what she had seen that had her face all scrunched up. “What did your Roomba text you now – huh?”

Yeah. Roomba.

That’s what your girlfriend’s teammates called you after Lucy had compared you to one. Not because you were Ale’s live-in maid, but because her captain had once come home after a meeting, to a mess of a living room. Loads of different craft projects everywhere. And after following the trail of abandoned projects and broken dreams, she saw you. Stuck in the corner – panicking like a Roomba who can’t get back to its loading station. Lucy and Keira had both been there when Ale found you. That is how your nickname was born.

“She said that she was going to clean up.” Alexia tried to ignore her best friend laughing at your plans – knowing what happened the last time. But upon arriving at your shared house – you were nowhere to be found.

As expected there was chaos everywhere.

The vacuum was lying on the ground, directly next to the coffee table – at least it wasn’t running. Or rather what was left of the said table – two legs were missing, both on the same side, so now it was lopsided, and a once-filled coffee cup was lying on the rug, its filling now spilled on the carpet. The mug must have slid down the table, once it missed its legs.

Approximately every bowl that your kitchen holds placed on the counters, is filled with various things. The footballer recognized the ingredients to your favorite cake. The bathroom mirror was still covered in cleaning spray – apparently, you forgot to wipe it off.

She had already changed at taken a seat on the couch when she heard the front door open and your muttering once you entered. “Hola Ale!”

“Hola mi amor.”

“Oh god! What happened here?” The blonde throned on her usual corner of the couch in the midst of the chaos, Nala in her lap – both of them looking at you with curious eyes, wondering what you would do. “I don’t know what happened – it looked like this when I came home.”

Both of you knew that it could not have been Nala, the tiny dog did not have thumbs to turn on the vacuum.

Once the stain caught your eye – you remembered everything. “Oh right! I was vacuuming and then I hit the coffee table, but it wobbled so it was broken, so I had to fix it! Then the mug slid down the table, it spilled all over the carpet! So I went to the kitchen to grab paper Towles!”

This was better than any TV show Alexia could have watched – she was not mad. “And the cake in the kitchen?”

“Oh! You are right!” You were now following your own mess as if you were a detective discovering a crime scene. “I went to grab the paper towels to blot the stain – then I remembered that I wanted to make a cake – but I spilled milk. So, I went to grab toilet paper to clean up.”

Alexia, Nala and you were now standing in the bathroom, a foamy mirror laughing at you. “Right, and then I sprayed the mirrors, but I had no towels to wipe it off, so I went to the store!”

Now you had solved the crime – your main suspect? Yourself.

Alexia could not help but laugh at your satisfied facial expression once you came to your conclusion. After packing away your shopping you realize that you had gotten everything aside from why you had gone in the first place. “Why did I want paper towels again?”

Your girlfriend did not answer you. She was leaning against the fridge, muscular arms crossed in front of her and she just stared at you. A soft smile on her lips. “Ale?”

After planting a soft kiss on your forehead, she led you to the living room. “The stain, bebita.”

“Oh! You are right!” Without hesitating you dropped to your knees in front of the still-wet stain. No wonder there, but before Alexia could react, you had pulled your shirt off and thrown it on the coffee – blotting the stain.

The blonde pulled you up by your elbows “Oh baby. Could’ve used a towel.” You looked like a bratty kid, being held up by your girlfriend while you tried to get the stain away. “Oh right! We do not have paper towels; I will go and get some!”

The Barcelona player set you down on the couch as gently as she could “No mi Corazón. You already went out.” She was gentle and sweet and ever so patient as she helped you tidy your mess.

It was late when you finished, your brain now tired from running at 180km/h the entire day – so Alexia decided to order takeout. It took her twenty minutes to figure out what you wanted to choose from her suggestions because your very low attention span sprang from the TV to Nala, to your book, and then to the still very-much-there stain.

Ale had to take you to your shared bedroom, sit you on the bed, and kneel in front of you – one hand holding both of yours in front of your chest, the other holding your face so that you could not avoid her eyes.

But finally, you had settled on Pasta. She even figured out which one you wanted.

Once it arrived both of you carried the things you needed from the now clean kitchen to the couch, sitting down ready to eat.

Or at least that was the plan.

While Ale already started eating, you realized, that you missed something. “Oh, I need a freakin’ fork.” And with that you had stood up again, wandering to the kitchen and while you came back with a fork, you just stood in front of the couch.

Ale watched closely as your eyes drifted off. “I need to get my sauce.” And *poof* you were gone again.

You returned with said sauce and sat down again. Ale already saw what was coming, holding onto your plate that wobbled when you stood up with force, throwing your hands up in the sky. “Freaking fork!”

Fork in one hand, water in the other, you came back. Before setting both items down on the table, you looked at your girlfriend – “Would you like some water as well baby?” The older woman nodded, she appreciated that you thought of her while your brain was driving you insane. “That would be nice, thank you corazón.”

She felt bad seeing you walk away with both water and your fork in hand, but she didn’t want to stop you, in fear that you would think that you were stupid, not being able to get everything you needed. So, she let you be.

Alexia even waited patiently as you sang in the kitchen for five minutes, before coming back with two water glasses, handing her the one you had already taken a sip out of. “Did you take my fork?”

“No baby. I think you left it in the kitchen.”

“No, I didn’t, I put my fork here.” Instead of showing her a specific place, you just plainly pointed to the entire table. But there was no second fork – so you went back again returning victoriously with a fork.

A deep sigh left your body after finally sitting down next to your girlfriend again. “What happened to your water?”

After bringing it up, Alexia felt bad. Your eyes squeezed shut, your fingers massaging your temple where an annoying headache would surely be forming.

“I left it.”

Now you had everything. Food, fork, water, your girlfriend, Nala, and your favorite TV show.

You were incredibly hungry by now but after taking a bite, you let your fork fall into your pasta. “My food is cold now.” Without saying anything, Ale stood up and heated it back up for you.

Later that night you were finally lying in bed, Alexia’s hand rubbing your back, cooing in your ear. “Today was hard for you huh, bebita?” Soft kisses were littered all over your face and neck, the blonde smiling after being able to get a smile out of you.

“Tomorrow will be better.” While your ADHD could be frustrating, Alexia would never be angry at you for doing certain things or not doing them – she was just so happy to have you.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #woso imagines #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #barca femeni #barca femeni x reader

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nicecarito · 7 months ago

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(English text version below the spanish one)

“ Ugh…. Diablos…Esto se esta haciendo cada vez más difícil día con día. ¿Pero que más puedo hacer? Estoy haciendo todo lo que puedo para mantenerme al margen, ser lo mas productivo posible y no dejarme llevar por mis preocupaciones. Tomo los medicamentos que el psiquiatra me ha recetado y me descargo con mi terapeuta en cada cita … aunque no puedo ser completamente honesto y decirle a detalle lo que me agobia realmente….

¿Cómo puedo decirle a mi terapeuta que guardo el oscuro secreto de mi hermano gemelo? Un secreto que puede destruir a mi familia definitivamente.

¿Cómo le explico que me mata la incertidumbre y el miedo de no volver a ver a mi gemelo con vida, cada vez que sale a completar alguna “misión?

¿Cómo le explico el miedo que tengo de que mi hermano mayor también salga herido o muerto cuando sale a cumplir con su deber como jefe de policía?

¿Qué haré yo si pasan esas cosas?

¿Qué haré si Café llega a enterarse del verdadero trabajo de Doppio y esto le destroza el corazón?

Si Doppio no llega a casa nunca y Café no sabe el por que… ¿Cómo deberé explicárselo?

¿Qué hare con Vanilla? … Ella es la que mas me preocupa… Ella es tan joven… no quiero que llegue a sufrir por esto…

¿Qué haré yo?….

Solo puedo callar, no puedo hacer nada más…

No puedo demostrar mi preocupación, no puedo hacerlo.

Trato de distraerme , tengo más de cinco trabajos que me ayudan a fijar mi atención en cualquier cosa menos en esto…Quiero ver lo positivo del mundo, ver a los otros sin preocupaciones …

Debo sonreír para no preocupar a nadie…

Y debo mantener todo esto para mi mismo… porque mis problemas son míos y de nadie más…

Nadie debería preocuparse por mis problemas, solo yo soy quien puede lidiar con ello…. Aunque este completamente agotado…."

Lungo, el personaje más carismatico , sin embargo, el mas complejo.

(practicamente no puede tener relaciones porque su vida esta echa un despapaye jejeje, el si le da importancia a estar bn primero antes de empezar algo, y las relaciones en las que ha estado son practicamente de solo una noche. Aunque bromeé con Pinzell, el mismo no le pediria en s erio el ser pareja. ojalá haya contestado bn a tu pregunta!)

English Version

" Ugh…. Damn…This is getting harder and harder everyday. But what else can I do? I'm doing everything I can to stay out of it, be as productive as possible and not get carried away with my worries. I take the meds the psychiatrist has prescribed and I vent to my therapist at every appointment…although I can't be completely honest and tell her in detail what is really overwhelming me…..

How can I tell my therapist that I'm keeping my twin brother's dark secret? A secret that could destroy my family for good.

How do I explain to her how I am overwhelmed by the fear of never seeing my twin alive again every time he goes out to complete some "mission"?

How do I explain to her the dread I have of my older brother also getting hurt or killed when he goes out to do his duty as chief of police?

What will I do if such things happen?

What will I do if Café finds out about Doppio's real job and it breaks his heart?

If Doppio never comes home and Café doesn't know why… How should I explain it to him?

What will I do with Vanilla? … She is the one that worries me the most… She is so young… I don't want her to suffer because of this…

What will I do? ….

I can only keep quiet, I can't do anything else….

I can't show my concern, I can't do it.

I try to distract myself , I have more than five jobs that help me to fix my attention on anything but this…I want to see the positive in the world, to see others without worries ….

I must smile so I don't worry anyone ….

And I must keep all this to myself…because my problems are mine and no one else's…..

No one should worry about my problems, only I am the one who can deal with it…. Even if I am completely exhausted…."

Lungo, the most charismatic character, however, the most complex.

#my art #art #cartoon #my ocs #sketch #comic #ocs #original characters #lungo de olla

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poetictarot · 8 months ago

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☆ What must you understand right now?

When we are in need of guidance, we almost always already have the answers we need. But we tend to hold back from trusting ourselves. In this tarot reading, I delve into what you already understand right now, and how this may help with what you must understand right now. Choose the photo that appeals to you first—or the most—then scroll down to the corresponding reading ☆

[ ☆ Pile 01 ]

Currently you understand what it means to surrender. You have come to learn that what it means to radically detach from unnecessary burdens is to step away from what does not nourish you. You could be stepping away from toxic and addictive habits, realizing how they have been trapping you more than you realize. You were bound by the false notions of clarity because of them; bound by false notions of ease. These false notions came a from a deep place of inner criticism that you no longer want to consume you. You understand what it means to come from a clean slate, what it means to lead a healthier body-mind-soul, and what it takes to recover from a place of dread and despair. You are in a state of healing as an act of surrender, release, and purging. You're setting down your baggage so you can finally breathe.

What you must understand then, is how to sustain your inner self. Part of inner sustainability means protecting your peace, setting clear boundaries, and valuing the abundance of what one already has. You’re already in the first few stages of this, with the understanding of surrender. But the process of healing is not as linear or as clear as it seems. There are times when the threats return, most likely when you least expect it and also when you are most vulnerable to it. Things always arrive in due time, and one is not always fully protected in the face of it. Nature as well, will often swell and radiate with or without us. Come to understand the act of receiving and returning as a gift of the world and of life. Build, cultivate, and maintain the kind of inner space that withstands the test of time.

[ ☆ Pile 02 ]

You currently understand what inner balance means. Inner balance is a rational process—it involves making the decisions that best suit your overall needs and circumstances. Balance is not perfection—if anything it is the distinct choices made in the midst of chaos that even things out. It is an overall equalization. It is a making sense of things, and then deciding from there what you are capable of. Things begin to fall apart into place, and you are more decisive than ever. It is most exhilarating to know exactly what to do. There may be anxieties, there may be fears, but they do not consume you when they are for the most part unnecessary. You have an idea of what to do next, and frankly this feels like it is free will utilized at its best.

What you must understand then, is how the balancing act leads to transformation. Think about the law of conservation of mass. Energy is not created nor destroyed, only transferred—you move and it leads to the next move. You just have to decide what your next move is. At this point in time, you are incredibly capable of creative productivity. Commitment, decisiveness, and rigor—these are the hidden factors needed to make something, and make it well. You have what it takes to finish strong.

[ ☆ Pile 03 ]

Right now you understand what it means to hold onto what matters to you. You understand what it means to embrace life and the world, and you accept it all with open arms. You have not let go of the spirit, the soul, of what nourishes you the most. But human arms can only hold so much. There are residual burdens that are holding you back from realizing the potential of your heart. The time has come to open your heart to the ceiling, to the sky. Share what you cherish, the generosity will fulfill you like nothing else. You have an affection that when it opens itself up to the world it creates possibilities, opportunities, and good fortune.

You must begin to understand that there are people out there who will embrace and release affection the same way that you do. As Maddie Dragsbaek expresses it, the love one wants exists because they exist. It is about time you learnt to love again, to give up the burden, to let someone keep you company, speak kind words to you, and help alongside you. But this is only possible if you release your soul and your heart to the world. The more you allow yourself to unravel, to unfurl—the more the right people will arrive and see you for who you are without judgement or disdain. You will be met for who you are with eyes of kindness. So, set yourself free from your own judgement. The time has come for you to be loved.

#tarot #tarotblr #pick a card #tarot reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #pac reading #general tarot reading

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amartianonmars · 1 month ago

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I was really enamored with all the fem Dethklok designs I saw around but I myself have a very specific vision for each girl, all described under the cut.

Natalie 'Nat' Explosion: She's taller than the average woman at 5'11 and has maintained a strong build from high school field hockey (most high schools I know don't really do women's football). She doesn't really go too heavy on the makeup besides stage makeup besides her signature black lipstick (which is just an overused eyeliner pencil) for that 'demon gurgling blood' look

Pickles the Drummer: She left her house after her mother didn't accept her transition into womanhood and joined an all female glam metal band, and while she has left that behind she can't help to do her makeup like the good ol' days. Usually its 3 days old and just cleaned up with a fresh coat of lipstick, her black nail polish reapplied usually when Nat does hers. She's pretty tall at 5'8" but still only the third tallest in the group. Her womb tattoo is a play on Snakes N Barrel's (there's a 'snake' in my 'barrel' so to speak) and she wears low rise jeans and shirts she cut herself to show it off. While the estrogen has kept the 'male pattern baldness' gene at bay, she still a white woman with dreads so she is still balding .

Winona 'Winny' Murderface: She's the shortest female member at 5'5", and she has the Napoleon complex to match. She rarely showers and shaves (the hair keeps coming up in weird patches) and has five identical outfits she cycles through. She never wore makeup growing up as an ugly duckling, every attempt shut down by bullying classmates and a conservative grandpa who claimed she looked like an 'ugly harlot' so Murderface usually goes bare face. Though every once in a while, Pickles and Seeveya will find a missing tube of lipstick in her bathroom that she claims to have 'never seen before'. Despite her 'masculine' interests and pick me behavior, she has bad luck with men, though her interests don't really seem fixated on them (she's gay AND homophobic)

Seeveya Skwisgaard: It's not actually her name (Svea, meaning literally 'from Sweden' according to Google), she pronounced it when introducing herself and everyone made assumptions on how it was spelled until it was bastardized to hell and back and she's too deep into fame to change it by the time she made it to Dethklok. The tallest member over Nat, she stands at 6'0" and is essentially built like a Swedish supermodel with the ego to boot. While she likes to keep her hair short and her appearance androgynous, she is extremely self conscious of being perceived as masculine due to her strong facial features and her small chest. Her makeup style is specially curated over years of trial and error, and she wakes up extra early despite her drug and booze fueled partying to make sure she's still the most beautiful woman in the room.

Toki Wartooth: Toki is the second shortest member of Dethklok at 5' 7", though the way she carries herself makes her seem much shorter. She's not the makeup type and lacks the patience for nail polish, though her natural beauty gives her no need for it. Despite this she does play dress up with Seeveya's (very expensive) products from time to time (including secret makeover sessions with Winny) and does love fun accessories, especially if she makes them herself. Despite her cute interests and fun demeanor, her build is strong from years of working in building in her old country. Her being used to hard labor means that when she's pent up she's usually at the gym for a few hours to relieve stress. Otherwise she's building planes, making bracelets for her band sisters, or working on her model planes.

Charlotte 'Charles' Offdensen: She's 5'6" (5' 8" with the heels) and is usually seen with a power suit and business ready makeup no matter the time or hour, her bun as tight and high strung as she is. Her strong energy and confident voice makes her an opponent as a business woman, though her glasses seem to be missing, well, the glass? Her plain-Jane appearance overlook her as the threat she truly is on the battlefield.

#my art #martianmarsart #amartianonmars #metalocalypse #metalocalypse nathan #metalocalypse murderface #metalocalypse toki #metalocalypse pickles #metalocalypse skwisgaar #metalocalypse fanart #dethklok #nathan explosion #pickles the drummer #william murderface #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #charles foster offdensen #charles offdensen

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sigcorp · 9 months ago

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bg3 characters as retail managers in my boyfriend's* educated opinion

(*he refuses to post this so i'm doing it for him)

wyll - i think wyll would be a really chill manager, he'd let you goof off sometimes But after a while he'd still make you go do something productive. probably would have some random assignment like dusting the fucking lights or something if there's nothing to do but he's not too strict.

would get mad at a customer once and you'd be thankful you never have faced his fury (he'd never get that mean with you though)

basically the "haha yeah okay okay guys seriously go zone we can't all be standing here you're gonna get me in trouble" type of manager

lae'zel - insane workaholic. you'd dread working with her and she'd make your shift exhausting, but you also can't deny the place would go to shit without her because she's so on top of things.

you'd feel immense joy having her come up for a stupid item return that is against policy because she would absolutely never bend for it no matter how bitchy the customer got. not because she cares about you really but she'd be damned to go against policy for literally anything

karlach - literally so chill that you forget she's a manager until she has to call you to her office which freaks you out because you know you've been extremely lax around her and you forgot she actually has to do shit about that but it's actually just to give you your next raise. you love her and she loves you

shadowheart - when you first work with her you find her insanely intimidating and a little bitchy but after a few shifts you kind of get Why she's like that. wouldn't be a favorite manager but you'd probably sympathize with why she buys wine after her shift every night. if you're lucky enough to hang with her out of work you get special privileges (as in she doesn't scold you for standing still for 3 minutes like she does the others)

gale - nice, but unlike wyll who has a balance between pleasant chats and doing work, gale will literally stand there and accidentally force you to actually stop focusing on what you're working on to have a conversation with him. that can be a good thing, but then you're behind and another manager gets grumpy about it. chill guy but you never actually see him do much for his job. how did he even get to this position???

astarion - call HR.

halsin - dude knows how to run a place. he schedules everyone perfectly and there's always a feeling of harmony as you work together to get projects done. he's friendly but focused. he doesn't care if you don't finish your projects he assigns you so long as you were trying your best, but he would be a little disappointed if it happened too often

i feel like he'd definitely be the manager who actually gives the customer whatever they want even if you said you couldn't though 💀 he wouldn't be mad at you for saying no but he'd make you look like a jackass to the customer

minthara - i actually don't know her so idk but from what i gather i would say also call HR

withers - he's been with this company so long that he knows where literally everything is and every single specific policy and how to solve everything. he doesn't talk much and he doesn't really tell you what to do, he expects you to figure it out and leave him alone unless you need to ask where the most obscure item of all time is to help a customer. genuine lifesaver in those circumstances though

jaheira - the mom manager. checks on you when she notices you're clearly not feeling well. will cover any shift without complaints. you feel safe with her. she handles any difficult task because she doesn't feel like explaining to you how to do it, which is nice but as soon as you have no choice but to do it on your own you don't know how

#bg3 #wyll ravengard #lae'zel #karlach cliffgate #shadowheart #gale dekarios #astarion ancunin #halsin silverbough #minthara baenre #bg3 withers #jaheira

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nohoperadio · 2 months ago

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I feel like I don't take enough advantage of the faculty of imagination. I have the option available to me, at every moment, to imagine any kind of wacky scenario I want, like maybe, like what if I was on some sort of different planet or something... whatever the details aren't important. But I never do basically! (<- look at that I can't even be bothered to come up with something good to imagine for illustrative purposes in this post)

My ex had aphantasia (I was in the room with her when she first figured this out) and was really upset about it, like almost kind of traumatized by it, in part because making art was a big part of her identity and it seemed to impose a skill cap on that, but also because of the feeling of suddenly finding out everyone except you has this amazing superpower and thinking of how great it would be to conjure whatever images you want at any time. And part of what I responded to her was like yeah I can see how it sounds like this incredible thing but it's way less exciting than you think, people don't actually spend their time sitting around playing all these cool movies in their head, that's not really a thing.

Which I think is true, it's true of myself anyway, I guess I don't know how much it's true in general? People daydream, I daydream, but most of my daydreaming is about interactions with people, like conversations that I'm anticipating or remembering or dreading or desiring, which don't require much in the way of cinematic presentation. I guess sexual fantasy is the other category of daydreams I have, which admittedly involves somewhat more graphical processing, although even then less than one might expect. I think those might be the only two things I actively use my imagination for? Reading fiction uses it a little bit, although again less than you'd think, and that's obviously a more passive kind of thing. Just seems kinda depressingly limited when I spell it out like that! Given that in theory there are like infinity possibilities.

Am I unusually boring here, are other people having better daydreams than me? Obviously some people, like writers (most obviously but not exclusively writers of fiction and poetry (actually does poetry even deserve a mention here, do poets actually try to describe things these days?)) and many kinds of visual artists are doing this in a very disciplined way, although plausibly they wouldn't bother doing so if it wasn't in service of some concrete finished product. Dunno. If you have interesting daydreams I wanna hear from you.

#selfposting #uninteresting

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 years ago

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Who would you think would most likely to baby trap their barling in Obey me? Take your top four pick and why?

The tactic of baby-trapping is a hefty one. One that pales in comparison to these devils' powers and connection to you with their pacts. In the devil dom, they already have an advantage over you anyway so this is more of a psychological thing. Whether it's to satisfy his psyche or to control yours these are my top picks…

Mammon

He is the avatar of greed

who better than he to own you in a way that actually manifests a child

“Better off sticking with me! You’ll need my help to raise the coolest little copy of me!”

Its honestly probably an accident

But as long as he gets to keep you by his side so be it

At first, he’s just not fully aware of the responsibilities that come with having a baby

And boy is he winded

He can’t run out because you and Lucifer are willing to chain him down to help

So he’ll suffer the long nights and the wailing as you both just get used to raising an infant

But once he gets past the dread he’s elated

Not only does the love of his life stay by his side forever but he has a cute kid to prove it

He won’t tell you that though

“Hah?! Love ‘em? I tolerate the little booger at best! Hey! Don’t hold him like that, you’ve got to be gentle!”

A doting father to the max

and even being more attentive if not more obsessive with you

“I bet you thought the great Mammon would leave you to rot! Fear not I only left to get takeout…and diapers.”

“Mammon!”

“...and the heads of those demons that were talkin’ bad about ya…”

“Mammon!”

“What?! It was on the way!”

Asmodeus

Oddly enough he does it because of self-esteem

Whether it's yours or his it's up to you

If it's yours he’s just tired of you looking down on yourself

And using it as an excuse not to be with him

Well if you're so certain you're not the most gorgeous human in existence then why are you pregnant with the child of the most beautiful devil in devil dom

If it's not your self esteem it's his

Your divine.

He knows it you know it

And so does everyone else

He’s not afraid of you beating him

He’s afraid of the crowd that follows

“Wow (Y/n)-chan your so popular…they seem to like you an awful lot...”

He’s never felt so insecure about himself before

How will the world know your his

…better than with a product of your bond

“Wow! Aren’t they the cutest?! They’ve got my looks!”

Youtuber kid all the way

Your child is more likely to be on more magazine covers than their father himself

Which makes it harder to escape if that was ever an option in the first place

But that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t feel the need to pick off your most avid fans

Especially the fans and theorists that notice your worried gaze and the possessive hold on your hip

“Oya you really captured their emotions that way! Too bad we can’t have you ruining their Winter debutant. Don’t be too sad! You are having the most beautiful demon be the one to end your worthless ugly life.”

Barbatos

Even with your summoner status, he’s a tough demon to beat

The power of time and teleportation are on his side

Which can make for a maddening punishment if you try to escape him

“Oh, so you insist on running, then? Fine but I’m not privy to keep doing this with you.”

Its also just easier to keep your mind on him this way

Since you're so insistent on trying to run he might as well make it impossible for you to do so

Emotionally at first

This doubles as his claim to ownership and a way to halt you from running ever again

As a butler to the king, everything he has is to serve his master

Even you are allowed to be in his possession its because his master lets him or doesn’t know

But a child

His and your child

That's something he can fully own

It works with your mind as well

Leaving you to either make the heartless decision to abandon your child

or to stay and have no choice but to grapple with this constant piece of him

That is if he lets it get that bad

Again with time as a tool, he can make it so everything he says and does makes perfect sense

“Let’s have a baby, my love. It’d be death all over again if you won’t indulge me.”

“Oh Barbs, I was thinking just the same!”

Diavolo

Has to be given the idea

It's not going to be his first thought

“Won’t that be cool! Then we could be together all the time! Just the three of us!”

Whether its Barbatos or you scoffing at his behavior something gives him the bright idea

Like most things, he’ll be upfront

He doesn’t really need to stake his claim

He’s the prince of devil dom

The very clothes on your back say you belong irrevocably to him

it's more like he believes it’ll make your relationship better

You’ll be more willing to have fun not run if your child demands it

Right?

“Wow! Good job you managed to get them all in perfect order!”

“Good job!? They killed half the staff for a demented dominoes game!”

“...”

“That's a bad thing!”

“R-right! That's a bad thing just like your mother says!”

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wildernessuntothemselves · 1 year ago

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Back with another pup gyu request 😩 Literally is the most insolent brat ever, always talks back to his owner and is super rude. You try to be gentler with him, be understanding of his bad history with past owners but with every jab he throws at you, it becomes incredibly hard for you to stay at home because then you’d have to deal with his negative energy. You don’t know that when its night time and all the lights are off, the pup is getting off of the memory of your scent, his dick leaking just at the thought of it, the absolute pervert. Whenever you’re out later than usual, he’d sneak in your room, undressed to roll around your bed with his naked body, hooked on the strong scent, how do you not realize how big his obsession is?

When pup gyu finds out that the reason you havent been coming home that early is because of you getting closer to your male co-worker, he absolutely loses it. Hes been at home, sulking and checking the clock every second anxiously awaiting your return but you were out with some random man skeaze? The pup is pissed.

Warnings: dog hybrid gyu (duh), gyu who had previous bad owners, harddom!reader, gyu being "forced" to sub, possessive gyu, spitting kink, edging, ruined orgasm.

You've been having such a pleasant time chatting with your co-worker and new friend, Yeonjun, as he walked you back home that you didn't realize how far along you've made it until you're almost at your house, but when you're finally hit with the realization, your mood quickly sours, and Yeonjun notices.

"Hey, you okay?" He asks, concerned. "You look like someone ran over your grandma."

"Huh?" You question, not having been paying attention to what he said as you arrive at your door--the one thing now separating you from the menace to society you're harboring--but you quickly snap out of it and give Yeonjun a half-hearted chuckle. "Oh, ha ha. I'm fine. I'm just dreading having to deal with him after such a long day at work."

You've told Yeonjun all about your hybrid woes--went into great detail lamenting about how the hybrid you'd recently saved from the shelter not only isn't grateful that you've fought to adopt him in the face of the shelter's own workers warning you about how terrible he is and how all his previous owners have relinquished him back within a month, but he's so nasty to you that you sometimes think he actually hates you.

Yeonjun frowns. "If he's that bad, why don't you just take him back to the shelter?"

Normally, you'd chew out any person who dares to so casually suggest relinquishing a hybrid as if they were a mere defective product that can be returned to the shop, but with how Beomgyu has made your life a living hell, you're ashamed to say that you're honestly considering it.

Before you can reply to Yeonjun, the door to your apartment swings open and a hand shoots out to grab your arm. You only have a second to glimpse up at Beomgyu's furious face before you're yanked into your apartment with the door being shut behind you.

"What the hell, Beomgyu?" You shout, shaking his hand off and go to open the door again. But you only manage to crack it open a tiny bit before Beomgyu slams it back closed with his hand.

You look up to glare at him but his own glare puts yours to shame. "Don't." That one word sends chills down your spine and you let go of the handle.

"Uhh, is everything okay?" You hear Yeonjun's voice call through the door and it ignites a fresh wave of fury in Beomgyu's eyes. His lips begin to curl up in a snarl and you quickly come to the conclusion that Beomgyu doesn't like Yeonjun being here and to diffuse this situation you need to make the latter leave. Not that you want to let Beomgyu get away with his ridiculous behavior but you know how territorial dogs can be and you'd rather this doesn't end in blood.

"Yeah, it's all good. Thanks for walking me home. I'll see you tomorrow, Yeonjun."

Even that small statement seems to rile Beomgyu up and you scoff.

"Are you sure?" Yeonjun calls out hesitantly.

"Yes, I am. Goodnight, Yeonjun."

"I..." He hesitates for a second then sighs. "Goodnight."

After you hear Yeonjun's footsteps fade away, you take a step back from the hybrid towering over you. "What the fuck was that about?"

He scoffs as if you're asking a ridiculous question. "What was that about? You've been coming home late for days, leaving me to wait up and worry like a damn lapdog for you, only to find out that you're late because you're whoring around with other men?"

If you weren't so shocked by the sudden absurd accusation coming from your fucking hybrid, you probably would've slapped him, but all you could muster out right now is half-shrieked, half-mortified exclamations. "What the fuck--how dare you--who gave you the right to talk to me like that? Have you lost your mind?"

"Yes, I have. I've clearly lost my mind because I thought you actually cared for me."

"Oh, that's rich coming from the guy who has taken any chance he got to make my life a living hell. I tried to be nice to you. I tried to make you feel welcome at my home. I took a chance on you against the warnings of everyone else and thought to myself 'Hey, he's probably just misunderstood. He just needs a safe, stable home in order to shed his hard exterior" and whenever you would return my kindness with malice, I would tell myself "He's been through a lot. Give him time. He'll warm up to you" but no, you turned out to be the asshole everyone else told me you are, and now you dare act like I've let you down by--what? Having my coworker walk me home to make sure I was safe?"

"You could've called me. I would've protected you much better than that bastard every could."

"Don't call him a bastard. He's my friend."

Beomgyu laughs mockingly. "He's not your friend. He just wants to get into your pants."

"You're insane." You throw your hands up in the air before storming towards your bedroom. You can't believe you're even having this conversation with your hybrid.

But Beomgyu isn't ready to give this up and he follows you into your bedroom. "Am I? You're forgetting I'm a hybrid. I could practically smell it on him."

"No, you're forgetting you're a hybrid. Why the fuck are you speaking to me as if you're my boyfriend and I'm cheating on you? Even if he wanted to fuck me, what's it to you? You're just a fucking pet. Did you think I would fuck you?"

The following silence is cracked by your sharp laugh that brings flaming mortification to his cheeks. "God, you did, didn't you?"

He bristles. "What's so funny about that?"

"The pup want to fuck his owner. How cute."

He charges at you and pushes you against the wall, but you press a hand to his chest and say firmly, "No. If you want this you're going to have to learn to be good."

If this is your ticket to finally getting the unruly hybrid under control then you're damn well gonna take it. Besides, he's hot as fuck so it's not like you're not gonna enjoy fucking him.

A muscle in his jaw ticks and for a second you think he'll rebel as always but then he takes his hand off the wall and steps back.

"Good boy." You sigh in relief before quickly composing yourself so as not to let any uncertainty show or you know he'll pounce on it. Beomgyu growls at the condescending praise but for once you don’t feel intimidated. "Strip."

He doesn't falter, unabashedly stripping and showing himself off to you. You guess you shouldn't be surprised. He's beautiful and he knows it but you can’t tell him that or he'll act out even more. So you just give him an unimpressed look.

"Stay." You tell him before going to your closet to pick something out. When Beomgyu sees what you come back with, his scowl is severe enough to have bowed you in the past, but not anymore.

"Hell no." He growls, eyeing the collar and leash in your hands disdainfully. Beomgyu has always hated them. He absolutely refused to wear them under any circumstances, which is exactly why you were doing this now. If he wants you, he's going to have to prove that he can obey commands.

"Then you can get dressed and go jack off in your room like you do every night."

He gives you a surprised look. "So you heard me?"

"Of course, you were not exactly being subtle. I just didn't know you were fantasizing about me." You snort, bringing the collar to his neck. "Now are you going to behave or do you want me to send you back to your room?"

His lips curl up at your condescending tone but he lets you fasten the collar around his neck nonetheless. The collar is a metal chocker typer of collar and the leash attached to it is made up of a sturdy chain. It's a fearsome set meant for a dangerous hybrid and that is precisely why you've been given them when you adopted Beomgyu. The staff at the shelter wanted you to have a way to control the unruly dog hybrid, but as soon as you got him home he bitched and complained until you took them off and then he wouldn't even accept the much softer, less menacing alternatives you offered him.

So seeing him submit and let you put this on sends a thrill down to your pussy which Beomgyu doesn't fail to notice. You don't mind though. If anything it makes him even more pliable as you pull on his leash and walk him towards the bed which you sit on as you stand him in front of you so your face was level with his cock.

"You're very excited, aren't you?" You tease, grabbing his cock and beginning to stroke it. "You really want to fuck me, huh?"

"Yes." He grunts, reaching out to hold your face but you snap at him, stopping your movement on his cock. "Keep your hands behind your back or I'll stop."

He grunts once again in annoyance but obeys, clasping his hands together behind his back.

"Good boy." You murmur, resuming your movement up and down his thick cock. "Didn't know you're capable of actually listening. All that was needed was the promise of a warm cunt. Guess none of your previous owners tried that out."

"I'm not an animal. I don't want to fuck just anyone." He replies, chagrined.

"Aw, so this is all for my benefit?" You coo, rewarding him with a particularly firm stroke.

"Yes." He admits tensely, clearly annoyed by your teasing. But fuck it, he deserves it. If he wasn't such an ass, you would've been way nicer to him in return.

"Good boy." You repeat those words that put him on edge. "For your honesty, I'll let you fuck me."

You let him get excited by the promise, let him dream about it for a minute, let him lose himself in the thought of your soft, welcoming pussy as his hips can't help but thrust in your grip as he imagines it's your cunt... before you reveal your evil intentions.

"If you can keep from cumming, that is." You grin, moving one of your hands to the base of his cock to stroke his shaft and the other to the head to twist around it, intensifying the pleasure you're giving him.

"Oh, fuck--" He groans, his head thrown back. You worry he hasn't even heard you, but a minute later he moves away with a gasp. "Stop. Stop."

"What? You don't like it?" You fake pout and he shakes his head heatedly. "Was close. Don't wanna cum if it's not in your pussy."

"Cute." You purr, then pull harshly at his leash to bring him back into your hands, cutting off his breathing for a second as the collar tightens around his throat. He gasps as the chain loosens up and he feels you pumping your hand up and down his cock, building his pleasure up again and enjoying the helpless moans he lets out. He's just so needy, isn't he?

"Feels good?" You coax, and he nods, sucking in a sharp breath when your hand slides over that sensitive spot on the underside of his dick.

"So good." He drools. "I'm so close. Please, stop."

"Please? That's a word I never thought I'd hear from you." You mock but stop nonetheless. When you see a bead of precum leaking from his tip, you lean forward to lick it off, swirling your tongue around his head after for good measure.

"Oh, please don't." He whimpers, almost folding onto himself at the feel of your wet tongue on his sensitive dick.

"You don't want me to suck you off?" You taunt, giving his slit a tiny teasing lick. "Don't want your cock in my warm, wet mouth?"

His cock jumps and leaks more, dribbling onto the floor. "Please." He whimpers.

"Please stop or please continue?" You ask mirthfully.

"Please have mercy." He says and you let out a loud laugh, moving your hand over his cock and starting the torture all over.

You can see his teeth grinding together, not letting anything out except small pitiful whimpers as he struggles not to spill his load into your coaxing hand.

"Oh, you poor pup." You purr, pulling on his leash to choke him out, forcing him to struggle for breath as you thumb at his red, swollen head. "That looks like it hurts, baby. Don't you want relief? Don't you just want to let go and paint my face with your seed?"

He lets out a wretched whine as he stares at you through heavy eyelids. "Need to fuck you. Let me mount you. I'll be good. I can be your good boy."

That pisses you off and you quicken your pace on his cock, knocking the breath out of him. "Why couldn't you be my good boy from the start?"

"Was scared." He gasps through the choker, "You were so nice to me but I knew better. I knew you would send me back like they always do. Didn't want to get attached--please stop!"

You're shocked by his honesty but his eyes are glazed over and he looks far gone. He's so fucked out he'd bare his neck just for you to fuck him.

"So you were treating me like shit because you liked me?" You quicken your pace on his cock, feeling how close he is as it twitches in your grip.

You felt sorry for him. You really did, but fuck did he drive you crazy this past month, and all because he wanted to reject you before you rejected him? "What was your end goal here? For me to send you back? Would that make you happy?"

He shakes his head harshly, gasping for air. "No! Don't send me back. I can be good, I promise. I can be your pretty docile pet to show off to your friends. I can fuck you to bed every night. I can protect you. I can be your good dog. Just please...please, stop--I'm sorry for acting out--haah--please--I'll be good--need you--no---no!" He cries out, stomach tensing and hips bucking forward as you take your hand away, but it's too late. He's cumming and he tries to chase the pleasure of it but you cruelly refuse to give it to him, letting him succumb to the agony of a ruined orgasm.

His knees buckle under him and he falls to the floor, causing the leash to loosen and allowing him to breathe easily. He takes big gulps of air as his body shakes and cold sweat pours down his body, matting his long hair and sticking it to his face and neck.

"Oh god--" He pants, eyes still hazy and dick painfully red. He tentatively reaches forward, holding onto your legs for stability. "Please... don't leave me like this."

"You want me?" You ask, cradling his face, your question holding a clear double meaning. He needs to drop the act. He needs to own up to his feelings instead of hiding behind the hurtful facade.

"Yes." He nuzzles into your touch and you reward him with a caress to his overheated cheek and a kiss to his forehead. "Are you ready to prove yourself to me?"

He nods again, eyes shining in adoration as he stares at you.

"Aw, how docile. Who knew it would be this easy to tame you." You coo, pressing your thumb into this mouth and forcing his jaw open. "Stick your tongue out for me, pup."

He does without question, and you lean forward, opening your own mouth and letting some of your spit fall onto his waiting tongue. "Swallow."

He obeys, pulling his tongue in and swallowing your spit before he sticks his tongue back out again, ready for more or whatever else you might wish to do with him.

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #hybrid smut #sub!idol #dom!reader

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jbaileyfansite · 3 months ago

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The Awardist Interview with Matt Bomer and Jonathan Bailey (2024)

Yes, Matt Bomer and Jonathan Bailey's sex scenes in Fellow Travelers consumed social media for a couple months during the limited series' run on Showtime. But the power dynamic on display wasn't just for sensationalism; it served a bigger purpose in the journey of the two closeted men.

They are also scenes that would've been difficult to put on screen just a decade ago, and the characters — Bomer's State Department official Hawk Fuller and Bailey's congressional staffer Tim Laughlin — very likely would've been played by straight men.

"I don't even know if I would have seen the script for it 10 years ago," Bomer says, laughing while seated next to his costar during a chat with EW's Awardist podcast. But the job was made easier, and "so much of my cynicism was obliterated," he says, thanks to the support of the network as well as production company Fremantle. "From the beginning, [they] were giving us notes that weren't constricting at all. They were actually really liberating," the Emmy nominee explains. "They were saying, 'No, go farther. Embarrass yourself. Go too far. Try to scare us. Try to see how far you can push it.' And that kind of permission, I felt, even bled into the acting work on set because it came from the people who were in power who could make those decisions."

Bailey, also Emmy-nominated for his work in the series, is quick to express his gratitude for the "brilliant gay stories" starring straight actors that have come before — "I would never for a second wish that I hadn't seen Brokeback Mountain or Gus Van Sant's Milk and Cate Blanchett playing Carol," he says — as well as even having the opportunity to star in Fellow Travelers.

"Had this been made five, 10 years ago, I completely believe that I would have been able to play a straight lead before I would have been able to play gay. And that's kind of wild," acknowledging the changing tides in the industry. But he also notes, "The majority of awards go to straight actors playing gay because there's this sense that that means that they're somehow brave or that they're mixing it up. And there is a bruise that, looking back now, there's a very real — and has been — sense that there aren't out gay men playing their experience," he says. "These characters, of course they're rich, of course they're complicated, of course they're exactly the sort of stories that you'd want to tell because it's so complicated, so much pain, and there's so much suffering, there's much resilience and there's much spirit in it."

That pain is on display throughout much of the series' eight episodes as they contend with McCarthyism and restrictive laws against homosexuality. But in particular for Bomer, it was episode 7, "White Nights," that he admits he was dreading the most. After a family tragedy leaves Hawk devastated, he flees to Fire Island, where his abuse of alcohol and drugs rightfully worries Tim, who travels there to find and hopefully help him.

Bomer says his nerves were routed in the big emotion switch Hawk makes during a sexual escape. "I was gonna have to go from a really drug-fueled kind of bacchanalian love scene that's really dark into the turning point for the character," he explains. "He has this tragic secret that he's trying to bury that is suddenly exposed in front of his face. And as Hawkins is want to do, when it's exposed, he attacks. And then to go from that to being able to rely on my scene partner and fall into the complete vulnerability of the character for the first time — and we didn't film those things separately, it was all one take — I knew that was going to be a scary day."

For everything Bailey experienced in the film, including the fear he had "of playing the last scenes" as Tim dies from complications of AIDS, it was a real-life scenario that reminded the actor of the horrors that queer people still experience. While in Washington D.C. for a Human Rights Campaign event in October 2023 prior to the launch of the series, Bailey, who was wearing an HRC hat, says a man in a coffee shop removed it from his head and threw it to the ground, physically threatening him before leaving when a woman started filming with her cellphone.

"It was really overwhelming and upsetting," Bailey recalls, noting the contrast between the "electric fervor" of the previous night's celebratory event. "I woke up the next day and I honestly felt like I was in a sort of montage of a B-movie because I was like, the sun was out and I was like, this is it, this is it, I get it, I get what this is about, I can see what my platform is and I can see how I can use this. [And I] went into a coffee shop and then someone threatens you and says, 'Get out of my country, you f---ing queer. If you don't do that, I'll shoot you.'"

Within a week, he called Jonathan Anderson, creative director of luxury brand Loewe, to create the Drink Your Milk t-shirt — a line from Fellow Travelers — to raise money for oppressed LGBTQ+ people around the world via Bailey's new foundation, the Shameless Fund.

"It was the most activating thing that possibly could have happened," Bailey says now, as Bomer wipes tears starting to well in his eyes. "There's a love letter I should write to the man from Pennsylvania."

Listen to Bomer and Bailey's full interview in the episode of The Awardist, here.

Source

#jonathan bailey #matt bomer #fellow travelers #the awardist #the awardist podcast #interviews #interviews:2024 #NEW!

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clarisse0o · 4 months ago

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Camp Wiegman - Part 11

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words : 4k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Sunday, November 1; 7:45 PM - Cafeteria.

I deeply regret Bronze' idea. She convinced me to eat in the cafeteria tonight. I've regained some color, and she decided it was time to reintegrate me. I still have a slight fever, but my nausea has completely disappeared for the day. I might even be able to return to my room tonight and go back to class tomorrow if my night goes smoothly. According to her, it would have been better for me to stay one more night in her room, but Wigeman insisted otherwise. She doesn't want me to miss another day, not being one to grant her students absences easily. Here we are in front of the cafeteria, with my spirits in the gutter. I don't even know what I'm doing here. I have barely eaten all week. Bronze has forced soup on me since Thursday, but I'm getting sick of it. Most of the time, it ended up in the basin a few hours later. She’s lucky I’m no longer as stoned or sore, or I wouldn't have even gotten out of bed. Now that I'm standing in front of the doors, I dread going in. She promised we’d go later to avoid as many people as possible, but it’s Sunday night. Everyone is back from their weekend, so the people who eat at the cafeteria come at various times. Bronze knows these kinds of details perfectly and failed to remind me. I feel all eyes on me as we walk through the doors. I stare at my shoes to hide my horrible face. I had to make the effort to replace my pajamas with simple jogging pants and a casual sweater to look at least somewhat presentable.

"I can't," I say, trying to turn back.

"Hey, Ona," says Bronze, holding my arm. "You promised you'd try to eat."

"Do you see all these people!?"

"What people?" she asks, looking around the room. "There are barely thirty people. That's hardly ten percent of the capacity."

"Please, Bronze..."

I pout to show her my discomfort. It's not like me to beg. I feel like a weakling. However, I'm willing to do anything to get what I want, even set aside my pride. She crushes my plan by gripping my shoulders.

"Look at me," she orders, and I comply. "I promise they won’t say anything. You need to think about yourself. You need to eat."

I turn my head toward the exit door next to us. It would take just three steps to reach the hall. Bronze interrupts my thought by gripping my chin, forcing me to face her insistent gaze. I know she won’t let this go. I sigh, knowing she's doing this for my own good. I need to regain my strength by eating something substantial. It’s the first day I’ve been able to move around on my own, but I haven’t fully regained my strength. I doubt I can carry a full tray.

"Okay, fine..." I concede.

"Will you be alright?"

"Yeah..." I mumble.

"Come on, go ahead and tell me what you want," she says, pushing me toward the buffet.

"I’m not taking a tray...?"

"One for the both of us will suffice," she says, placing our utensils on it. "It’s not like you’re going to have a full meal."

I bite my lip, thinking she’s probably right. At least that solves my tray problem. I look at the appetizers while she slides the tray along the rail.

"I’m not asking you to take everything, but at least pick a dish and a yogurt. Does that work for you?" she suggests.

I nod, glancing at her. She grabs an appetizer before we move on. What she picked would tempt me if I were hungry. However, that's not the case today. The food they serve us isn’t that bad. It’s not up to the standards of what Sam makes at home, but it’s edible. Contrary to what one might think, we’re rarely served frozen food. The school makes sure to order and cook fresh products. I think that's good. That wasn’t the case at my public high school in Miami. The next step is the main dishes. I give a timid smile to the employees who seem happy to see me, judging by the light in their eyes. I know most of these people from my punishments imposed by Bronze. They were very kind to me, surprisingly.

"Your flu is finally gone?"

I frown, not understanding why the cook is asking me that. I look to my supervisor for answers. She smiles at them and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"She felt better today," she announces. "She didn’t want to get out of bed, but I managed to convince her."

"Good to hear," he replies. "What can I get you?"

I look at what’s available. Once again, the food is tempting, but the appetite isn't there. This makes me question my presence here again.

"Come on, Ona, make an effort to take something," Bronze encourages.

"Just pasta with sauce."

"No meat?" he asks.

I shake my head no. He smiles and fills a plate, which he hands to Bronze. He prepares a plate for her as well while I continue to move forward. I skip the dairy section and head for dessert. I decide to opt for an apple instead of yogurt. Once we’re done, I’m grateful to Bronze when she suggests we eat in the educators' section. There��s not much difference since only rectangular flower pots separate the two areas, but it’s better than being among the students.

"Come on, sit there," she says, tapping a chair facing away from the cafeteria.

"Thank you," I breathe.

It’s strange to be on this side, but I’m not going to complain. She smiles as she places my plate in front of me. I look at her with a grimace stretching across my face.

"Are you okay?" she asks for the umpteenth time.

"I feel like throwing up."

She chuckles at my disgusted expression. The soups may have gone over my head, but the idea of a full meal is overwhelming.

"Come on, eat a bit. I’m not asking you to finish the plate, just fill your stomach."

"Tsss. If I throw up all night, you’ll be the one cleaning it up, I warn you."

"That’s already what I’ve been doing from the start," she laughs.

I don’t retort, realizing it's true. I sigh and reluctantly bring the fork to my mouth. The first bite feels mushy. It’s like rediscovering food. She smiles with satisfaction and starts her own meal. I rest my heavy head on my palm, watching her.

"Why did the cook mention the flu?" I ask.

"Wiegman passed off your absence as the flu. Only she and the instructors in charge of you know the truth."

"Why?"

"To avoid spreading the news," she shrugs. "She has a reputation to uphold, you know."

Obviously. Interests over truth. It’s not even worth commenting on. I continue to eat my pasta, most of which sticks in my throat. I manage to swallow half before feeling stuffed.

"Do I really have to go back tomorrow?"

"I guess so, yes."

"And if I don’t feel ready?"

"Are you getting depressed?" she smiles.

I lower my head, playing with the rest of my dish. I really don’t want to go back to class tomorrow. I have a bad feeling. I still feel a bit unwell, and it’s too sudden. Bronze places her hand on mine to stop my circular movements in my plate.

"What’s wrong? I’ve known you to be more tenacious than this."

"What if I have a withdrawal episode in the middle of class? It’s not out of the question, you know that, right?"

"Calm down, Ona. Everything will be fine. Anyway, it's just a possibility. You still need to have a peaceful night."

"Can I make myself throw up right now?"

Bronze laughs softly, removing her hand. I already miss her reassuring warmth. I don’t find it funny. I’ve thought it through and could seriously consider it if it meant staying one more day in my room or hers. I have no desire to go back tomorrow. She seems to understand I’m serious because her smile fades, and she raises an eyebrow, appearing to judge me.

"Are you going to talk to me?"

"There’s nothing to say... I just don’t feel ready," I admit timidly. "I don’t know... Maybe others will figure out the truth by looking at me? I’m sure there are plenty of junkies here."

"It’s not like it’s written on your forehead."

"Who knows?" I half-joke.

"Well," she sighs. "I’ll try to negotiate one more day for you. But Tuesday you’ll go back to class no matter what. OK?"

I’m sure my eyes sparkle with happiness. I didn’t think she’d go so far as to grant me an extra day. If I had known, I would have spoken to her sooner. I nod enthusiastically, creating a mischievous smile on her face that doesn’t bode well.

"However, it’s not without condition."

I groan in frustration, letting my head slide from my palm. Damn, it was too good to be true! I sit up to look at her with puppy eyes.

"No need to look at me like that."

"What’s the price?"

"You need to regain your strength, so I want you to finish your plate and eat your apple," she orders in a more serious tone. "If you succeed, I’ll speak to Wiegman. If not, I won’t bother. Deal?"

"Deal," I say, already regretting it.

"Perfect," she smiles. "I’ll let you eat and come back to get you. In the meantime, I need to check on others."

I nod, watching her leave with her tray. She also ate less than usual. I think she’s staying on the lookout. I prefer it that way. Once she disappears, I turn around to see if anyone noticed me. I recognize one of my friends, who seems absorbed in her conversation. I wonder what excuse Bronze used to explain my absence to them. I haven’t spoken to them since last Sunday. I’ll have to be honest with them one day. I eat my pasta, though I doubt I'll manage to finish the apple.

"I remembered Friday night. You know, when you ended up just as soaked as I did."

"Is this how you thank me for helping you?"

I giggle at her clearly exaggerated offended look. She kicks my shin under the table, immediately calming me down without erasing my smile.

"Admit it was funny looking back on it."

"How can you remember that? You were completely out of it."

"I have no idea, but it's worth remembering, I laugh even harder."

This time she laughs with me, shaking her head.

"Stop making fun of me. I have plenty of dirt on you from this past week too."

"Go ahead."

"Not now. I'll save it for when I'm in a tough spot."

"Of course, I roll my eyes."

I hand her another piece of apple, which she accepts without protest. Finally done! She stacks our plates on her tray.

"Let's go, I still need to see Wiegman because of you."

"Sorry, but I really don't want to go back to class tomorrow."

"This is the last favor I'm doing for you. Make sure to get back to your life quietly starting Tuesday and catch up on all your missed classes."

"You're really depressing when you want to be."

"I know."

She smiles proudly. We're the last ones in the room with the staff cleaning the kitchen. I help Bronze clear the tray, then we leave the dining hall to return to her room. She drops me off and immediately heads to administration. I take advantage of being alone to take a shower and put on my pajamas. A slight headache returns when I lie down in bed. I sigh, thinking it can't be more unbearable than what I've been through this week. I turn off the light and try to find sleep. Just as I'm about to succeed, Bronze reappears in the room. Her first instinct is to turn on the light, making me groan into my pillow.

"What's wrong with you? Why were you in the dark?"

"Because I maybe wanted to sleep?"

"At nine p.m.?" she chuckles.

"Shhh, I groan. Turn off the light!"

I pull the blanket over my head to block the light that's worsening my headache. She turns it off a second later and crouches beside me. The back of her hand rests on my forehead, making me sigh.

"No, I don't have a fever. I just want to sleep."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, Bronze."

"Well, I'm going to shower then. Sleep well."

I turn my back to her and pull the blanket over again. I hear her sigh before a door slams. I lower the blanket to get some air. She turned off the main light but left my bedside lamp on. I hear the shower running in the next room. I can't fall back asleep. I toss and turn, but it's useless. Bronze comes out of the bathroom before I manage to fall asleep. She ignores me and heads to her bed behind me. I wait a bit before rolling over. I'm surprised to see her on a computer. In a week, I've never seen her on one. She usually prefers books. I even thought she didn't have one since I didn't find any when I turned her room upside down a few weeks ago. She must have brought it from home. I smile when I notice glasses on the end of her nose. It's the first time I've seen her wearing them. It's weird seeing her with them, but they suit her. She turns her head towards me after a moment of silence.

"I thought you wanted to sleep?"

"I can't anymore..."

"Sorry, I thought you were joking. Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, just tired and a bit of a headache."

"Go back to sleep then."

"Easier said than done. And with the light and all..."

"Do you want me to turn it off?"

I shake my head. The desire to sleep has passed since she returned. She stares at me without speaking.

"Has anyone ever told you that glasses suit you?"

"Yes," she chuckles." But thanks for the compliment. I was going to watch my series. Want to join?" she offers.

"Which one?"

"Game of Thrones."

"Oh, yeah," I say enthusiastically." What episode are you on?"

"I just started. I'm mid-season one", she says, sitting up.

The idea is appealing; I love this series! I lean against the wall, pulling the blanket up. She swings her legs out of bed, keeping her laptop on her knees. The Apple logo dazzles my eyes as she types. When she finishes, she places it on a chair she moves closer so we can both see the screen. She presses play and positions herself like me in her bed. As for me, I finally lie down, noticing I can see the screen from this position too.

"Bronze?" I ask after a while.

"Hmm?"

"So what did Wiegman say?"

"That it's okay, but it's the last day she'll give you. As I suspected, you won't be able to get out of it on Tuesday."

"How did you persuade her?"

"Doesn't matter."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing," she chuckles. "The how is just administrative, it's my job. The important thing is the answer, right?"

"Hmm..."

Her answer hurts. "It's just administrative." "It's my job." So I'm nothing more than a job to her? I thought she did it because she understood me. I turn my head when I feel her gaze on me. A silly smile spreads across her lips.

"What now?"

"Nothing..."

"I can feel you thinking from here, and I'm not putting up with it through the whole episode."

I ignore her, focusing on the screen. Now I feel foolish for thinking she might care about me. She sighs and pauses the episode. She keeps staring at me, but my eyes stay fixed on the screen. I don't want to give her the satisfaction or she'll win.

"What do you want to know?"

"Nothing, it's fine."

"You're so stubborn when you want to be. Too bad for you."

I bite my lip. Damn it. My curiosity gets the better of me. I speak just before she presses play.

"Why don't you want to tell me?"

She looks up at me, keeping a neutral expression. I feel stupid. I always seem to ruin good moments.

"Because there's nothing to say. You shouldn't worry about the how. That's my problem, but if you must know, I said you still felt unwell and weren't ready. Nothing more, nothing less. Can I resume now?"

I think I made her angry. I hide the blush forming on my cheeks by rubbing my head against the pillow.

"No need to get mad. You could have told me right away."

"No, it's none of your business. The liaison with Wiegman is my job. You really need to learn to trust me."

"It's not about that."

"Yes, it is, and you know it as well as I do."

I sigh, lowering my head. Yeah, she's probably right, even if we're not thinking about the same thing right now. Now that I know she's doing this just as part of her job, I'm afraid she'll tell Wiegman everything I confided in her. I haven't opened up like this in a long time, and I don't know how I'll take it if she repeats it. Our relationship has evolved a lot in a week, but not in the way I thought.

"Trust goes both ways... I tell you things, unlike you."

"I'm not your friend, Ona. I'm your instructor, even your supervisor. I'm not supposed to bond with you beyond this relationship. I'm not going to tell you about my life. My role is to guide and help you. The liaison with Wiegman is part of that."

"You ruin everything."

"Why? "she frowns.

"I really thought you liked me."

"I do. You're my student."

She doesn't understand. For once, it's not me. I cross my arms and sink into my bed. She sighs deeply.

"What now?"

"Nothing."

"Yes. Spill it now that we're here."

"I opened up to you. I confided in you and even let you shower me. God knows how hard it was for me to let you do that! A simple supervisor wouldn't have done that! You even gave me a birthday present. I thought you liked me more than any other student for doing all that."

"You're not just any student, you're my student."

"Great, I say sarcastically."

"Stop sulking. I've always acted professionally. You knew what to expect in the evolution of our relationship. Sorry if you felt differently."

"Yes, you're right. I misinterpreted things."

She sighs, watching me. She surprises me by getting up and sitting on my bed. I instinctively pull back and turn my head away.

"Stop acting like a child, Ona."

She forces me to look at her by holding my chin. Her green eyes pierce through me.

"Let go of me!"

I try to pull away, but she releases my chin to hold my head. I can't escape her now. I could close my eyes, but I'd look even more ridiculous than I already do.

"Ona, I really like you. You're different, and that makes you special. Your case intrigues me, and it makes me want to invest more in you than the other students to help you change. However, it won't change our status. I'll never offer you friendship or anything like that. Can you understand that?"

"Yeah," I grumble." At least I won't be fooled twice."

"Don't take it that way."

"Yes, the message is clear."

"This shouldn't change anything between us, she says, making me laugh bitterly."

"It's not for you to decide."

"Ona..." she sighs.

"I got fooled by imagining things, but it won't happen again."

"I don't want you to become that insufferable student again just because of a misunderstanding."

I don't respond. There's nothing more to say on my end. She releases my head, sighing once more. She admits defeat and goes back to her bed. She resumes the series, which I keep my eyes on, trying to ignore her gaze on me. I thought we had moved past professionalism. Sure, I don't expect a great friendship, but at least a slightly more friendly relationship instead of sticking to statuses. It seems I was just daydreaming. When I leave here, she'll go back to being the unpleasant commander.

"I see the defiant girl you were in the first days."

"She never left. Looks like I wasn't the only one imagining things."

"Don't lie to yourself, she scolds. You're far from the girl who came here a month ago, and you know it."

"Hmm."

"Fine, as you wish."

She focuses on the series, creating a deathly silence. I can't even follow the episode anymore. The conversation keeps spinning in my head. Will she change when we go back to our normal lives? Hard to say, but it's scary. She's taken care of me so much since the beginning. I'm almost glad she was assigned to my case. The episode ends. Fortunately, I've seen it before because I haven't followed it since our exchange. I'm barely staying awake, but I hold on. I don't want to sleep being on bad terms with her. Deep down, I know she won't change her behavior.

"Bronze...?" I call her timidly.

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I got upset. I imagined things... I don't know, I sigh. I knew what to expect, and I should never have said what I said."

"I know, Ona. Rest now, I can see you're forcing yourself to stay up until the end."

"Hmm... Good night, Bronze."

"Good night."

My heart is much lighter now. Hopefully, I'm not wrong. I take a deep breath before letting my eyelids close on their own. I feel like I'll sleep well tonight for the first time in a long while.

#woso #lucy bronze #woso community #barca femeni #ona batlle #woso soccer #lionesses #sefutbol fem #ona batlle x lucy bronze

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